


Of Attics & Argonauts

by MelanijaParadis



Series: The Tessera Tales [4]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Birthday Smut, Cloaking serum, Dessert & Sweets, Dungeon, F/M, Heaven's Vice, Hook-Up, Inspired by The Umbrella Academy, Inspired by V for Vendetta, Sexual Metaphors, Simulation crystal, Telekinesis, Telepathy, Whitelighters (Charmed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26032516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanijaParadis/pseuds/MelanijaParadis
Summary: This is a series of Hacy smut taking place around S1E19. Harry elects to stay with the Charmed Ones as Macy’s birthday is coming up. She apologizes for losing her temper and sparks fly. Macy catches Harry reenacting "Heaven's Vice" in his simulation crystal, and things escalate from there. Harry remains in denial of his feelings as Macy makes herself a midnight snack. After Maggie accuses Macy of 'breaking' Harry, Macy proposes a truce. Harry tests leftover cloaking serum. Later chapters act as prequel to "On Lorenz Theory & Love" fanfic.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Series: The Tessera Tales [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853758
Comments: 22
Kudos: 37





	1. We Love You

Of Attics & Argonauts

_8 am, November 25, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Harry heard a _ping_ reverberate from his phone. _A calendar reminder. Whatever for?_ he wondered as he clicked on the gold-colored icon. _Was it Maggie’s latest Kappa Rush activity? Mel’s upcoming thesis date?_ (He silently hoped it was the latter).

Oh.

Oh _my._

In seventy-two hours exactly, it would be the birthday of a _certain_ Dr. Macy Vaughn. Having made the decision earlier that week to remain with the Charmed Ones, he knew he had to put forth a jolly effort at maintaining good cheer and overall morale. But _how,_ exactly?

_8:05 am, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Morning, Harry,” Maggie passed him as he jumped, startled by her innate ability to sneak up on him unnoticed. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” Harry hastily put his phone down and busied himself with the fried vegan meat and sandwiches, though why _anyone_ called anything “vegan _meat_ ” was beyond his comprehension.

“N-nothing at all— _vegan bacon butty_?” Harry offered Maggie a tantalizing breakfast sandwich, which she gratefully took.

“ _Thanks_ Harry, you’re the best!” she exclaimed, as Macy sleepily entered the kitchen. “Morning, Mace!”

“Morning,” yawned Macy.

“Long night?” Maggie asked sympathetically. Macy nodded.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” More miasmic visions of solidified creatures and humans alike, dancing eerily in graphically-bound images unable to escape her head. _Another reminder she had ‘bad blood.’_ “I gotta grab a quick bite, I have a meeting with Dr. Julia in half an hour—”

“Speaking of calendar items…” Harry began, “My Outlook calendar mentioned _someone’s_ birthday’s coming up. _Yours_ , in fact—” He imagined festooned ribbons, gaily-wrapped streamers, perhaps a balloon or two…or _several…_ based on Macy’s earlier depictions of her tenth birthday and all the pleasant memories that came with.

“ _No.”_

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Harry tilted his head, puzzled. “It’ll be fun—we can have ourselves a garden fête, drink to another journey around the sun—"

“ _C’mon_ , Mace,” Maggie pleaded, while taking bites of her vegan breakfast sandwich. “It’ll be _fun—”_

“Birthday cake, birthday presents, birthday cards—” Harry merrily rang out.

“I _SAID_ NO!” Macy’s eyes flashed a darkened onyx as the remaining sandwiches on Harry’s pan slammed into the opposite wall, its oily drippings smearing downward in an iridescent puddle. “ _Oh God,”_ she breathed, realizing what she’d done. “Harry—I-I’m _so_ sorry—”

Harry waved his hand and the spilled sandwiches, oil and all, vanished without a trace. “Macy, _lo_ —” he caught himself in time. “ _Look,_ it’s fine.” He didn’t wish to alienate Macy further by hinting at romantic overtures, especially not like _this_.

“ _I-I should go_ —” she whispered, and with that, Macy turned and fled, her purse slapping against her slacks as Maggie and Harry heard the front door slam shut.

_Oh dear._

_6 pm, Attic to Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

As Harry finished reading the day’s newspaper in his favorite olive green upholstered chair he’d brought upstairs, he sniffed the air. _Was that…_ he paused. _Onions? Carrot? Chicken?_ He orbed to the kitchen to investigate and found a certain beautiful curly-haired witch pulling what appeared to be a savory pie from the oven.

“What’s the occasion?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. Macy turned to him sheepishly after placing the succulent dish on a nearby hot plate.

“None, really—” she began. “Chicken pot pie. Saw a recipe online.”

“Mel’s off with Jada again, and Maggie’s busy at Kappa,” Harry continued. “I thought you’d save something of this caliber for them—"

“I know they’re out,” murmured Macy shyly, looking at the hot plate and back up at Harry. “This is just for us two. _If you want._ I guess…” she paused. “It’s my way of saying _I’m sorry_.”

“For what?” Harry thought back to that morning but knew Macy’s blood had been the culprit—that and the Vortex Viribus.

“For earlier. _At breakfast_. I shouldn’t have lost my temper at anyone, least of all _you,_ ” stated Macy. “You were the one who introduced us to magic, and you’ve gone above and beyond. You’ve saved our lives time and time again, healed us, _cooked_ for us even—”

“It’s the very least I could do, seeing as Mel’s right, I don’t pay rent—” Harry interjected.

“But you do,” she replied. “In other ways, I mean,” as Macy found herself staring at his chestnut hair, those eternally kind eyes of his. _Snap out of it, Macy!_ She silently scolded herself, as she used telekinesis to grab a knife, deftly slicing the pot pie and retrieving plates, placing one slice on each, fork and knife included. Harry gaped, transfixed at the sudden show of swordsmanship. _Damn, woman_. _What_ had _he seen in Charity anyways?_

_6:15 pm, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Why _were_ you so upset by talk of festivities?” Harry asked, before placing another forkful in his mouth. _Divine,_ he thought as he subconsciously uttered a moan, causing Macy’s toes to curl beneath the table they shared _._

“Ever since I found out about the necromancer, I’ve felt…” Macy hesitated. “ _Tainted._ Like I cheated death. Like I _don’t belong_. Like I’m a _mistake_ — _a horrible, cosmic mistake—”_ she choked back a tear as she reached for her wineglass. “A mistake that ripped apart my parents’ marriage and destroyed everyone’s lives—”

Harry reached over to rub her back reassuringly as Macy uttered a silent gasp. _Nobody told her how amazing Whitelighter massages felt._ “Macy Vaughn, you are anything _but_ a mistake. Your brave mother made a choice out of love—a choice that bound you and your sisters together—and which eventually brought you…” he hesitated, “to _me_.” In that very moment, he heard Macy take a sharp intake of breath, and his brain had a rather odd prickling sensation, though not entirely unwelcome. _It felt rather pleasant, in fact. And oddly familiar too,_ he mused to himself, but brushed the thought aside to focus on the lady seated before him.

_I love you so much, Macy, you’re simply stunning, I wish you were mine—_

“Macy,” Harry continued as he stroked the kinks away from her tightened upper shoulders, oblivious to Macy’s unexpected revelation having read her Whitelighter’s innermost thoughts. “You remind me of a quote from Maggie Nelson’s “The Argonauts” which goes like this: ‘ _I want you to know, you were thought of as possible—never as certain, but always as possible—[because] two humans deeply, doggedly, wildly wanted you to be,’_ ” he recited from memory.

Her eyes softened upon hearing Harry’s words as she turned around to face him. _He—he loves me!_ “Harry, that was _beautiful_ ,” she murmured. “Thanks, that…that really helps, more than you know.”

“Glad to be of service, as always,” Harry said with a curt nod of his head as he orbed away to take a shower, Macy staring after his departing shadow.

_1 pm, November 26, Attic, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

One more day until Macy’s birthday and he _still_ hadn’t found an appropriate gift in the local shops befitting her. His early-morning internet search for “birthday shopping for a female friend” generated enough ludicrous and unseemly items to make him blush all the way down to his chest. _No,_ he thought to himself crossly, _I don’t want edible underwear for my beloved. I mean—friend, dammit—friend. Nor stringed bikinis._ He mourned the fact that opposite-sex friendships and birthday rituals had apparently gone the way of the dinosaurs.

_Then a moment of inspiration hit him._

_5 pm, Attic, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Uttering the words “ _invenies annos mihi perlatum_ ,” Harry discovered a box of photos in an enchanted cupboard that decided to show itself. _Vera Manor certainly had its share of secrets,_ he thought to himself as he took the lot and began transferring them to a photo album he had picked up earlier that day from the college printing shop. _It wasn’t the fanciest, but it would do._

_5:05 pm, Enclosed Staircase to Attic, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Harry?” he heard Macy’s voice calling from the staircase and orbed to meet her.

“You rang?” Harry breathed.

“Oh—um, wanna make pot roast for dinner tonight?” Macy asked. “I already sliced the vegetables, the stuff’s ready to go—”

“I’m kind of…in the middle of a project,” Harry managed to say, noticing the bottom staircase door was closed. _How odd_.

Macy bit her lip. “What kind of project—can I see?” She angled her head upward toward the open attic door as Harry attempted to distract her. _Shite_ , he berated himself. _I want this to be a life-altering gift—surprise her—how do I—maybe if I hug her, that’ll distract her?_ He made to do so, as their bodies drew ever nearer in the enclosed threshold space.

_The scent of jasmine wafted through her tightly-wound corkscrew curls as Harry embraced her, gazing into her innumerably expressive eyes, their tempestuous visages growing closer, inch by inch, and closer still until they were but a millimeter’s distance apart, as his smoldering gaze absorbed the sublime, scintillating opulence of her exquisite beauty. At once, their lips grazed each other’s cheeks and eventually met—his lips to hers, a tingling sensation—their mouths easing open ever-so-gently to taste the other—tentatively, then with far less restraint than was wise or proper. He maneuvered themselves to avoid tripping down the stairs as Macy’s back made contact with the wall, causing a sharp cracking sound as picture frames slid off and levitated in every direction._

_Soon, she found herself straddling her Whitelighter’s muscular form, his steely hardness pressing into her soft, wanting thigh as their soft kisses grew increasingly frenzied, their hands wandering all the more wildly, him pinching the most sensitive area of her neck, as she brushed herself closer, biting his shoulder as he stroked her raised nubs as she gasped in ecstasy. Without hesitating, she unzipped and freed his stiffened, engorged self as he discovered, to his utmost surprise, that she wasn’t wearing any underwear, as he felt her hand guide him to her heated warmth within. “Fuck,” Harry blurted out as he pushed himself into his beloved—how long had he waited for this moment in time? From the very beginning, he knew from the way she carried herself, her intellectual prowess far surpassing and superseding his, that he had finally met his match...their breaths synchronized amongst themselves in a heady thrum, punctuated below by the picture frames vibrating along the stair steps..._

_As he felt the familiar crescendo toward his apex, his thrusts growing increasingly rapid, he wished this moment would last forever but knew it was utterly ephemeral, as he heard her cries of ecstasy that mirrored his own, until, at last, he heaved himself forward and spilled himself into her._

_6 pm, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Hey guys, something smells _awesome!_ ” Maggie had just returned from Kappa handshake cheer practice, in which one had to invent a special hand gesture or something of the sort. _Why_ this sort of thing was popularized, Harry hadn’t the faintest idea. “Y’guys need a little help?” She made to walk over and touch Macy’s shoulder—

“ _NO!”_ both exclaimed, their forms frozen above the simmering pot roast. “I mean—” panted Macy, “we- _we’re good._ ”

“Er, _what she said_ ,” Harry muttered in a rather un-Harry-like way. “Feel free to busy yourself with your, _erm_ , studies—”

“Ok…” Maggie tilted her head, confused. “Are you guys ok? You both sound kind of… _weird_ —" and without so much as another word, she slung her satchel over her shoulder and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

_6:15 pm, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“That was close—” Harry exhaled.

“ _Too_ close—” agreed Macy. “We probably shouldn’t have—I mean— _earlier—_ what _was_ that?” She turned to face him.

“You know how I feel about you, _Macy Vaughn_ ,” he replied in a low voice just loud enough for her to hear. “And I know you feel the same way—”

“But—” Macy’s expression grew pained as she was plagued by a surge of self-doubt. “What will my sisters think? _What the hell are we doing?_ I just broke up with Galvin—I—I _can’t_ —I need time to think this over _—please_?”

“ _As you wish,”_ he murmured, sweeping her curls and planting a stolen kiss atop the curvature of her sloping shoulder.

_8 pm, November 27, Vera Manor Garden, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Harry came out to the garden bearing a small fruit-topped cake with glowing candles atop, Macy’s sisters following, as they sang Macy happy birthday under the trellised tealights. After she blew out the candles, Harry presented her with a vintage hat box. Intrigued, she opened it, finding a large, gold-embossed photo album of every single photograph she had as an infant with her mother Marisol, plus all of the accompanying letters she and Maggie had pored over in weeks past.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “This is _the_ best birthday present I ever could have received.”

“So, _uh_ , _Macy,_ ” Maggie spoke at last. “What did you wish for?”

Rather than reply, Macy stared headlong at Harry, who felt himself blush down past the nape of his neck, if such a thing were possible. “If I say it aloud, it won’t come true,” she bit her lip and smiled.

“We love you, Macy,” Harry said, as he watched the bucolic scene unfold. _I love you._

“Harry,” Macy replied slowly, meeting his eyes. “ _We love you too.”_


	2. Tell Me What You Saw

2 Tell Me What You Saw

_Midnight, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

_“Macy, I need you to tell me what you saw,” Harry’s low, accented voice echoed in her eardrums, permeating the most sensuous of dreams, that had her thrown into her guilty pleasure TV show, “Heaven’s Vice,” frequenting a ‘90s-era café and unceremoniously tossed into a pair of chains in a dank underground dungeon across from an ominous sacrificial altar, stained with the blood of previous unlucky female souls who met their agonizing, untimely demise._

_“Macy, tell me what you saw,” his voice faded away—_

Macy awoke, springing upright in bed, remembering she was back in Vera Manor, and _not_ handcuffed to the dungeon walls of her favorite TV show, listening to the reverberating sounds of Harry’s voice. And in reality, Macy perused the “Heaven’s Vice” Instagram and Twitter feeds long enough to know the blood was, in fact, simple sugar syrup dyed crimson with organic beet juice. _But she still liked to explore the depths of her imagination._

Rubbing her eyes, she rose from her bed, crossed the threshold, and made for the attic, where she knew Harry would be sleeping. Or working on his latest discovery about her condition. _Harry wanted me to tell him everything, and that’s exactly what I need to do,_ she told herself firmly, as she knocked once, twice, then three times.

No answer, but the door creaked open. _Had something happened to Harry?_ Unable to fathom the thought of her Whitelighter in danger, she padded up the steps and faced his bed. There was nothing to suggest he’d been in danger—though a swirl of fog emanating from his simulation crystal, the hand-held, pocket-sized spherical rock, suddenly drew her attention. She looked around, swallowing hard. Mel and Maggie were asleep, and it was the dead of night, as she reached a slender finger to touch the crystal—

 _There’s no backing out now,_ Macy thought to herself, as she felt herself yanked into Harry’s innermost thoughts.

_12:10 am, Café, Heaven’s Vice, Harry’s Simulation Crystal_

As the fog of the simulation crystal cleared, Macy glanced down at her clothing and patted her hair. _Weird_ , she thought to herself. Her normally curly hair was pulled into an upper topknot, and she found herself wearing a faux sapphire choker, a floral-print pinafore dress, with a pearl-white sleeved undergarment. _Oh my God,_ she gasped in sudden realization.

_She was Angelica._

The surroundings felt all-too-familiar, as she recalled her earlier sojourn into her favorite show, having been pushed in. The restaurant seemed to be buzzing with the telltale nondescript chatter and mumblings typical of “random background noise conversation” she knew of the show. She noticed three plain hanging light sconces plus a laser image of a steaming coffee cup. To her right, there were two waxen 6x6 translucent windows, typical of late-‘90’s filming methods. _But why on earth had Harry decided on a “Heaven’s Vice” simulation?_ Macy silently wondered to herself. Recalling where she was in that particular season, she realized she needed to make her way to the phone booth out back to let herself be captured in a dark cloud of smoke. _In the name of plot progression, of course. Maybe then she’d have a way of tracking Harry down._

_12:15 am, Dungeon, Heaven’s Vice, Harry’s Simulation Crystal_

As the smoke cleared, Macy found both of her wrists chained to the wall; she pulled and attempted to use her fire powers, but it was no use, as she continued to struggle in vain. _“Dammit,”_ she muttered under her breath. “HARRY!”

Instantly, her Whitelighter appeared, his back facing her, “Well, I do _love_ a warm welcome” he murmured, as she silently gasped, noticing his sudden wing manifestation as he tested them out, flexing his feathered musculature this way and that, finally having them disappear at will as he whirled around to test out his combat skills.

Harry turned around to survey his prisoner and immediately turned pale. “ _M-Macy! Why the devil are you in my_ _simulation crystal?”_

“Heh,” Macy bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “I had a weird dream, and you told me to tell you if I ever did…and I saw the empty attic and got nervous, and saw your crystal, and well…” she gestured at the chains above, which Harry made vanish as she massaged her wrists.

“Macy, _you could’ve gotten seriously hurt!”_ he cried aloud as he alternated between remonstrating and hugging her.

She pulled away and stared him squarely in the eye as he fell silent. “You and I both know that you would never let that happen. So what gives?” She and Harry sat atop the sacrificial altar, now magically wiped clean of sticky sugar residue.

“I-I was just…” Harry stammered, “I was trying to absorb myself in your guilty pleasure…in the hopes that maybe, just maybe…” he paused, “… _I would become yours_.” he stared at the rough concrete ground below them as his cheeks reddened in shame. _Was there no end to this embarrassment?_

A thought struck Macy at that very moment; why _couldn’t_ that be the case? “Oh, _Gideon,”_ she purred in Harry’s ear as he shivered. “You’re _so_ naughty…”

“Er, Mace, my name’s Harry—” Harry interjected, but Macy whispered in his ear.

“ _Just play along.”_ Harry nodded wordlessly as the fantasy resumed once more.

_12:25 am, Dungeon, Heaven’s Vice, Harry’s Simulation Crystal_

Macy found herself linking her wrists into the chains jutting from the adjoining wall. “From what I’ve seen,” she began, “Gideon is a notorious bad boy with brown hair streaked with blond,” as Harry transformed himself as such, hair and all. His visage turned sultry as he turned toward her with a sensual gaze that caused her to gasp. _Oh sweet mother of…_

“He wears a thick metal necklace and black leather jacket, does he not?” Harry interrupted her thoughts. “With a scar on his abdomen.” Instantly, Macy noticed a collared chain appear on his pale neck, as he picked up his black jacket that had been tossed nearby. He strode toward her with the most Gideon of smirks as he unchained his collar from his neck and ran it down her own, causing her toes to curl involuntarily as she noticed him lift his eyebrow in a most rebellious fashion.

_12:30 am, Dungeon, Heaven’s Vice, Harry’s Simulation Crystal_

“Am I missing anything?” Harry asked Macy, still chained.

“Well…” she hesitated. _Chains or altar? Decisions, decisions,_ she mused to herself, hardly believing herself awake, reliving the strangest parts of her fantasy come to life, with her very own Whitelighter. As if reading Macy’s mind, the chains vanished once more, as Harry came millimeters away from her own form, whispering “ _Came down from Heaven, to give ‘em Hell—”_ causing Macy to utter an audible moan.

“ _Oh brother—”_ she whispered, as she found herself straddling Harry’s muscular form, nibbling his neck and biting it at turns as he set her form at the pristine altar. “ _Take me,”_ she breathed.

“Right here? _Now?”_ Harry inquired. _Just to be sure._

Macy shuffled in her spot as she removed her underwear and threw it across the room, landing at the foot of the chains. _That answer your question?_ her raised eyebrow implied.

_12:32 am, Dungeon, Heaven’s Vice, Harry’s Simulation Crystal_

“I think this is where they cut to commercial—” she began.

“ _Not in_ my _simulation,”_ Harry all but growled as Macy unzipped his fly and freed his stiff, leaking self. _Oh my, he was definitely well-endowed,_ Macy thought, her mouth gaping as she stared downward, at _him._ “Like what you see?” he asked, in a very Gideon-like smirk. She answered in the affirmative, practically licking her lips at the tantalizingly naughty image displayed before her. _Smutty fan fiction definitely didn’t hold a candle to this Whitelighter._

“Oh, Gideon, where’ve you _been_ all my life?” Macy moaned breathlessly between frenzied kisses, as Harry’s lips made their way downward to suck on one of her now-hardened nubs, causing her to thrust forward involuntarily as one of his hands traced her orb’s outline, then its twin, _the very nature of Venusian perfection itself._

“In Hilltowne’s faculty lounge, _reading smutty fan fiction, if you must know,”_ Harry responded, biting her shoulder and slapping her ass to tease her as she touched the tip of _himself_ , rubbing the pad of her finger in his essence and licking her finger dry while staring at him all the while, causing him to grow even harder, if that was even remotely physiologically possible.

Locking glances, he aligned himself at her petaled, warm and wet entrance, purposefully teasing her as she _ached_ for his touch. “ _Tell me what you need,”_ Harry’s smoldering dark grey eyes met Macy’s pleading oak-colored own.

“ _You,”_ she all but whimpered. “ _Please.”_

 _“But first of all—”_ he stated. “What’s my name?” _A trick question—or was it?_

“Gideon,” Macy began. “Also known as Harry, the hottest and most well-endowed man I have _ever_ had the pleasure of fucking—”

“ _Excellent answer,”_ Harry breathed, finally entering his witch at long last as they gasped at the startling sensation.

“I’ll have you know, you’re in the presence of a doctor of genetics—” Macy said between their synchronous movements.

“Oh, I was _quite_ aware, _Dr. Vaughn,”_ remarked Harry between thrusts, “and I think you’re—the sexiest—most entrancing—enthralling—” he grunted, “vixen—I have ever known—in this or any—” he gasped aloud, not for the first time, “—lifetime.”

_12:35 am, Dungeon, Heaven’s Vice, Harry’s Simulation Crystal_

Macy clawed Harry’s bare back as she felt a hum of pure, unadulterated pleasure in low vibration, subtle at first, barely perceptible, then reverberating in a gradual thrum around her innermost sanctum. He continued to pound himself within her, as she began to crescendo toward her apex. “ _Fuck,”_ she whispered in Harry’s ear. “I-I think—I’m gonna—”

“ _Scream for me, love?”_ Harry mouthed and she did so, shivering, her cries echoing across the entirety of the dungeon walls as he roared, his essence spilling itself into her walls.

_12:45 am, Dungeon, Heaven’s Vice, Harry’s Simulation Crystal_

Sweaty and spent, they cuddled atop the altar for what seemed an eternity. “Macy,” Harry suddenly spoke. “What _was_ that dream you had earlier tonight?”

Macy blushed. “I think we just reenacted it.”


	3. With a Cherry on Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macy makes herself a midnight snack as Harry’s dirty mind plays tricks on him...

3 With a Cherry on Top

_Midnight, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Unable to sleep, Macy found herself in the kitchen, tormented once again by dreams of darkened attics, abject sensuality, and a _certain_ gentleman who wanted nothing to do with her in the normal daylight hours outside of his glassy orb.

_What happens in the simulation crystal, stays in the simulation crystal._

His statement sounded oddly detached— _cold,_ even—considering their earlier rendezvous just days before. They rose from their intimate stance atop the altar, hugging each other close as they transported themselves back to the attic, where they dusted themselves off, Harry plucking bits of beet-dyed sugar from Macy’s hair. He watched her curvy, departing figure descend the stairs to her own bedroom, wishing they lived in a different time—a different _era_ —one where he were brave enough to clasp her wrist in the palm of his steady, unyielding hand, pulling her toward himself so they could fall into sweet slumber on the same shared mattress, under the moonlight streaming through, her visage nuzzling the curve of his neck as he recited to her the constellations in the sky.

_Agreed._

But _why_ had she agreed to his air of denial? She sighed as she opened several cabinets, plunking down two types of dessert syrup—chocolate and caramel, an unopened glass jar of flaming-red Italian maraschino cherries, generic rainbow-colored confetti sprinkles, and two types of gourmet chocolate-covered nuts—candy-coated sunflowers and almonds alike. Ordinarily, Macy would have brewed herself an unsweetened cup of peppermint tea and called it a night.

_But she was tired of being good._

Not to mention, her PMS symptoms had reared its ugly head, roaring, dragon-like in the pit of her unsatiated stomach, beckoning for succor. _It demanded satiation. Payment in full,_ Macy analogized to herself as she opened the freezer door, her fingers exploring its frigid depths as she dug around for what she knew was her secret guilty pleasure—her chocolate brownie swirl cookie dough ice cream.

_12:15 am, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Looking for something?” Macy jumped and whirled around, her eyes narrowing as she squinted into the darkness of the living room. _Harry_.

“ _Nothing that concerns you_ ,” she turned around, continuing to hunt for the elusive pint of ice cream, finally spotting it in the furthest back corner of the freezer as she yanked it out and placed it with the rest of the fixings.

“You’re eating ice cream? At _this_ hour?” Harry raised an eyebrow from where he stood in the shadows, which Macy ignored as she strode to the nearest drawer and retrieved a large stainless-steel spoon.

“I could ask the same of you,” she stated. “I didn’t call your name. Why are you up? And why are you _here?”_

Harry sighed, running his hand through his chestnut hair. “I…I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to ensure the eldest Charmed One didn’t self-destruct on my watch.”

“ _Me?”_ Macy laughed aloud. “Self-destruct?”

“Macy, you’ve taken in the Source of All Evil, darkness has coursed through your veins, and your fire power risks overcoming your spirit—it’s the least I could do as your Whitelighter—making sure you’re ok.”

“Since when have you given a damn about _me_?” Macy uttered in a low voice as he noticed her tapered fingers clutching the steely silver kitchen implement. _How was it possible to be this alluring at the dead of night, simply holding a spoon?_ he wondered to himself as he swallowed hard. “Sorry, ignore that, Harry, it’s just me PMS-ing…” she trailed off apologetically, placing the spoon gently on the kitchen counter, surveying her ingredients. _Hormones, coursing through her feminine body, exacting the revenge of Eve herself, vis-à-vis the trailing, trickling ribbons of crimson pulsating from her innermost sanctum—_

“ _Since the very beginning_ ,” Harry half-whispered to himself, watching from a distance as Macy tore open the packet of chocolate-covered sunflower seeds, retrieving a nub which she held tightly between her thumb and forefinger. Leaning her back against the kitchen drawers, she closed her eyes and uttered a sigh as she licked its pointy end, savoring the sensation as the intoxicating scent of _kasha-_ hued cacao permeated all five of her senses. Noticing the chocolate melting away to reveal a pale-yet-firm tip, she continued her _langulaire_ ministrations until the whole nut lay naked in the silky, cinnamon sugar-scented bed of her forefinger, oblivious to Harry’s strangled groan a room away.

_12:20 am, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

After she had poured herself a teaspoon of chocolate-covered sunflower seeds and set it aside in a half-cup-sized glass bowl, she sealed the purse-like packet shut and stowed it in a high shelf within a cabinet, standing on the tips of her toes. Macy then found herself moving onto the chocolate brownie swirl cookie dough ice cream pint that lay before her, heretofore unopened. Debating whether to ravage her freshly manicured _cerise-_ crimson nails by ripping open the frigid container, she instead used telekinesis, swiftly plucking a kitchen knife from where it had lain firmly plunged in the cutlery block’s tight-fitting slit. In one fell swoop, Macy punctured the plastinated seal, causing oxygen to escape with a single elongated _hiss_ as Harry’s knuckles whitened atop the plush sofa’s edge from where he was situated.

He stared transfixed, as Macy plunged her _argent_ spoon into the seal’s tidy crescent slash, retrieving a spoonful of creamy, swirled mahogany confection, a sigh of laden ecstasy escaping her claret-tinted lips as her tongue reached forth to lick the smooth, velvety sweetness. _Good gods, woman_ , he sucked his breath in sharply as he felt himself tighten below, with abject _need. You are a distinguished Women’s Studies professor,_ he admonished himself, as Macy scooped a three-quarters cup of ice cream into the glass bowl that held the chocolate-covered sunflower seeds. _You are a respectable Whitelighter to the Charmed Ones, a composed, dignified—_

_12:23 am, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Unscrewing the milky white metal tin from the glass jar of Italian maraschino cherries, Macy noticed she had inadvertently splashed its carmine juices atop the curves of her bust. Reaching her finger along the edges of her low-cut camisole, she licked the saccharine away at a deliberate pace, listening as Harry’s breathing became increasingly haggard. _Oh, I could have_ so _much fun with this_ , she mischievously mused to herself, reveling in the fact that though Harry attempted to suppress his innermost desires, his sordid need for her kept making itself known. Macy pulled a single stem out of the jar, connected to a lone orb of hulled, cavernous-in-miniature fruit, her teeth sinking into its flesh after a beat. Chewing for the next few seconds, she swallowed. Harry watched as she popped the fruit stem back into her mouth— _what on_ earth, _Macy_?—as he saw her head tilt this way and that, much as it had on that altar not so very long ago. His gaze remained fixed on the angular curvature of her _O_ -mouthed lips as he watched the tangle of stemmed _cerise_ limb luxuriate itself, limber and supple, into an unmistakable love knot, which she deftly removed from her _bouche_ orifice with her right hand, laying it next to the rest of her dessert condiments.

_12:25 am, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Chocolate syrup came next; Macy reached for the slim, supple-necked bottle, grunting as she struggled to pry the sticky bottle cap open, then pounded it on the countertop rhythmically, as beads of sweat dotted her forehead with the effort. Resigned, she ran the entire object under a stream of hot water, drying it with a paper towel as it finally gave, leaking its sweetness in dotted pearls congealing along her left wrist. Macy held her wrist up to her mouth, sucking noisily at the syrup until traces of it all but vanished. _Should I do the caramel syrup?_ she wondered, throwing a surreptitious glance at her Whitelighter, who was positively trembling like a leaf. _Eh, maybe another time,_ she answered to herself, placing both containers back where they belonged.

A sharp twist and flick of her wrist yielded a smattering of confetti sprinkles atop her ice cream sundae. A couple of tiny pieces bounced off the dessert, but all in all, it was a marked improvement from the last culinary-based attempt at telekinesis, which culminated in her dropping a raw egg on the floor. After screwing the lid back on the tiny jar of sprinkles, she stowed it in the overhead cabinet and turned her attention to the packet of gourmet chocolate-covered almonds. 

Macy really had to hand it to Harry’s stubbornness; she peeked behind the packaging over at his muscular form, _still_ standing in the darkness of the Vera Manor living room. _How the hell had he lasted this long? Surely he had nerves of steel,_ she mused as she opened the ziplocked bag, retrieving exactly three large chocolate-covered almonds. Macy used the knife from earlier to dice the first two almonds, scattering their residue atop her _bol en verre_. She held the remaining nut between her thumb and forefinger, running her tongue from its base to the very tip, savoring the seductive _Couverture Callets_ cocoa butter, bittersweet cacao, and surprising hint of Himalayan salt that danced across her palate. As if on instinct, she bit down, _hard_ , breaking the confection in two with her teeth as a burst of warm liquid caramel exploded on her tongue.

_12:27 am, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

She groaned deeply as a hint of caramel froth leaked from the corner of her lips. “ _Damn_ , that’s salty,” she murmured, licking what remained of the sugary, viscous surge. If she didn’t know any better, scrutinizing Harry’s brawny silhouette meters away, her precious Whitelighter seemed to be stifling a rather intriguing forward-movement of his own, emanating from his nether regions thereabouts. Glancing at her ice cream sundae, sprinkles, chocolate syrup, cacao-covered nuts and all, she knew something was missing. _But what?_ She stared across the table to the fruit bowl, which happened to have a perfectly ripe banana for the taking.

_12:30 am, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Using her telekinesis once more, she brought the banana into her firm-fisted grasp, meticulously undressing each furl of the tropical triploid cultivar, the Cavendish _Musa acuminata_ , as her mouth surrounded an inch, then two, then _three—_

“Oh for _fuck’s sake,_ Macy!” Harry shouted in frustration as he orbed away to the attic, unable to stand the sight any longer.

Just then, Mel strode in amidst the commotion, rubbing her eyes as she adjusted to the kitchen’s oddly lurid fluorescent lighting. “ _Good Lord_ , Mace, it’s almost 1! And what’s with _him_?” indicating the swirling discharged shadow of a preternaturally vexed Whitelighter.

Macy bit her lip, attempting to stifle a Cheshire cat grin. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”


	4. Pretty Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macy calls for a midnight truce; Harry tests a bit of leftover cloaking serum. Partly inspired by the "V for Vendetta" dance and "The Wedding Crashers" dinner scene.

4 Pretty Please

_2 am, Simulation Crystal, Attic, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Once he had wiped himself clean, Harry orbed to the smoky, miasmic depths of his simulation crystal.

“ _I only live here,”_ he whispered to himself as he landed feet-first within his cozy underground 1950s bachelor pad, dusting himself off and setting his vintage Victrola needle to Julie London’s “Cry Me a River,” a slow, jazzy, and altogether mournful tune. Harry imagined his favorite scene from the film “V for Vendetta” in which the masked, mysterious V and innocent Evey Hammond danced together for the first and final time in V’s hidden underground lair.

Moments later, he sank into his faded brown leather armchair, WWII Italian Savinelli tobacco pipe in hand, sucking inward from its tapered tip to ward his innermost angst away as he faded into a most restless slumber. With each inhalation, his quivering breath became more steadied, more _sure_ , as he wiped away a single tear with an impatient flick of his wrist. It had been six decades since his last stress-induced puff and he had succumbed once more against his better judgment, thanks to the feminine wiles of a certain vexatious Charmed One.

_8 am, Five Days Later, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Over the next few days, the underlying tension was palpable as the Vera-Vaughn sisters completed their usual work, studies, potion-brewing, and other myriad activities. Harry busied himself in the attic, and it was only after Maggie’s third bite of cold cereal did she realize he had absconded from culinary duties altogether, choosing instead to stand at the living room threshold ensuring the three sisters obtained suitable nourishment.

Once she finished her cereal, she placed her bowl in the sink and moved toward Harry, patting him on the shoulder, the older brother he was, in a sense. And she felt a sudden jolt—

_MACY! MACY! MACY! MACY! MACY!—_

Her eyes sprang open upon hearing Harry’s inward, anguished roar as she snatched her hand from his arm. Harry’s puzzled glance upon her, she stepped backward, tripping on her own feet, before running out of the kitchen and up the Vera Manor stairs as fast as her legs could carry her.

_8:15 am, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

_A frenzied stampede of wildebeests on the Sub-Saharan front—a set of wild, galloping ponies from the North Carolina shoreline—the buzzing of a thousand magnetized-driven bumblebees—mountain lions roaring across the Appalachia—_

The knocking continued, yanking Macy out of her dreams. Groaning, she threw a pillow over her head, hoping the person would go away and leave her alone—and instead heard the door open then close, her sheets thrown back with the morning light glaring at her visage. “ _For fuck’s sake,_ Maggie, what’ve I told you about boundaries?” exclaimed Macy, spotting her scowling youngest sister.

“ _YOU.”_ All it took was one word.

“ _Me?”_ Macy blinked, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the bedroom, regretting the Irish coffee she had late last night as a celebratory nightcap for completing her genomic paper on the subliminal characteristics of arginine. “What did _I_ do?”

“ _You broke Harry,”_ Maggie hissed.

“Um,” Macy laughed. “I don’t think that’s possible—”

“You guys are avoiding each other like the plague, he stopped making vegan sausage sandwiches, and he reeks of old man tobacco. _Macy,_ WTF?” Maggie’s voice raised a notch with each word.

“Ok, _ok—_ ” Macy heard enough. “A few days ago,” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “he and I had…a _disagreement_.”

“Sounded much worse than that,” Maggie commented.

“What do you mean?” Macy inquired, perplexed.

“I brushed by him—and he was screaming your name—” Maggie elaborated. Macy blushed. _Oh dear sweet baby Jesus._

 _“Screaming?_ ” Macy wanted to be sure before she said anything that would remotely incriminate herself.

“Yeah, like he was in Tartarus. In a _scary bad_ way. _Tortured._ ”

“Oh.” Macy hadn’t expected _that. What if I really_ did _break him? Shit._

“And from the way he sounded, I’m guessing you’re responsible—” Maggie continued as Macy shook her head a fraction of an inch. “Don’t try to deny it.”

Several more seconds passed in silence then Macy spoke. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever it takes to get Harry back,” Maggie answered wearily, letting her guard down. “I’m tired of soggy cereal. It reminds me of the days after mom passed, like death warmed over.” Her voice cracked as Macy enveloped her in a sisterly hug. “I miss my big brother Harry. And I miss the vegan sausage sandwiches he bakes that make this place feel like home.”

_6 pm, Two Days Later, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Macy’s extension of an olive branch led to a private cooking lesson the moment her sisters were out of the house—Mel in the library, Maggie at yet another Kappa event. _Had Harry forgotten the earlier ice cream incident?_ Feeling as though an extra pair of eyes were watching her, she looked up, spotting an aproned gentleman staring at her over the kitchen threshold as her toes involuntarily curled _just so_. “ _W-What’s the menu tonight?”_ she half-whispered as he strode toward her, long wooden spoon in hand.

“Creamy white Hollandaise sauce over thick haddock fingers, long steak frites, and a stone fruit dessert salad, with ripe, glistening slitted peaches, plums, and nectarines,” he all but purred, stroking the rounded curvature of the wood in his hand. “ _Dotted with silvery coconut sauce_.”

 _No, he definitely hadn’t forgotten,_ Macy thought to herself as her breath hitched.

_6:20 pm, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

The haddock fillet shaped into fingers, dipped in white was easy enough for Macy to visualize away. _DNA samples, RNAse essences,_ she told herself as she ignored the tightness building in her abdomen, flame-like, dipping deeper into the torrid darkness of her core. _Blanched bones, ivory relics, dried Kyon cores, manifold manticores—_

The steak frites were baked in greased, rosemary-infused wedges; tantalizing as they were, she told herself they were _potatoes, root vegetables, pomme de terre,_ ignoring her innermost impulses to lick each one root to stem. Taking a deep breath, she spent time dipping them in tart tomato ketchup and delicately licking the red remnants off the corner of her mouth, ignoring Harry’s sidelong glance.

After they cleared the dinner dishes, Harry produced a peach, plum, and nectarine for the stone fruit dessert salad, slicing each in half. Once he had done so, he delicately massaged each large seed out of its sweetened core in a figure-eight-like pattern, from the tip to the very base of the stone, causing Macy to grab ahold of the kitchen counter to steady herself. “Macy, are you alright?” he inquired without looking up once. She could’ve sworn she saw a hint of a smirk on his British visage. _Oh man_ , she watched his ministrations with a vaguely pained expression. _Get ahold of yourself!_

“I-I’m fine,” she breathed, without once breaking her glance on the fruit salad, now being divvied up for the taking. And indeed, Macy thought for a moment she was—until Harry revealed the final ingredient. _Silvery coconut sauce_. The container of which he shook for several seconds then popped open, as he drizzled its essence in haphazard spurts over the deep fuchsia, marigold, and sunburst yellow.

“I-I _gotta go—_ ” Macy backed up against the wall, her legs nearly buckling before she rolled herself to the corridor’s mouth, absconding to the comforts of her upstairs bedroom, leaving a chuckling Harry in her wake. _Evil bastard,_ she thought for the briefest moment as she sped up the staircase, before realizing with shame that he had likely experienced ten-fold the frustration that was fast-accelerating within her at that very instant.

An idea occurred to her. _Would he be amenable?_

_7:30 pm, Attic, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

A _swooshing_ noise was followed by a piece of parchment, slipped under his door. “ _Midnight truce? Pretty please?”_ it read. Harry smiled, contemplating the possibility of a resurgence of romantic friendship.

_Midnight, Simulation Crystal, Attic, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

He entered his simulation crystal once more, imagining his underground lair as it materialized before him, bookcases, Victrola, brown leather armchair, and all. He turned on Julie London’s “Cry Me a River” and reached for his Savinelli pipe—

“Smoking’s a filthy habit,” he heard a voice say behind him. _Macy._ He stood from his seat and faced her, absorbing the image of her wearing _that_ exquisite red dress he had seen on her time and time again, but never for _him—_

“I decided to wear the red dress I know you love so much,” she smiled shyly, acknowledging an earlier moment in which she had penetrated his innermost thoughts. “ _Julie London_?” she asked, in reference to the slow, sultry melody. He nodded, momentarily tongue-tied, but found his voice soon enough.

“How did you know?” Harry asked finally.

“Just a feeling,” remarked Macy simply. “It seems very… _you.”_

The lyrics echoed throughout the underground study, leather armchair, 1950s banned books, and all. “Dance with me?” Harry offered his hand as Macy took it within her own, winding her other arm onto his shoulder as they glided face-to-face, putting aside their obstinate battle of the wills.

“Harry, what is this place?” Macy asked in wonderment, as she couldn’t help but notice the reams of aged literature, previously decried during the McCarthyism Era. “The Great Gatsby,” “The Catcher in the Rye,” William Golding’s “Lord of the Flies,” among so many others, all first editions, filled the ancient shelves.

“My inner sanctum—my lair—a bachelor pad—” Harry coughed indelicately. “ _My_ bachelor pad, as a matter of fact,” he replied, wondering if he sounded as clumsy as he felt. “I retreat here when I need a rest from the weary world, or when I encounter dilemmas…of an _intimate_ sort,” he added.

Macy’s lips brushed against his cheek as his eyes bowed and closed, savoring the familiar warmth of her feathery touch, even if it was but only for the merest of seconds. “What brought you here today?” she whispered, the curvature of her lips conjuring rapacious thoughts in Harry’s mind of equally-exquisite angles of his beauteous charge’s form.

“ _The latter,”_ he murmured in response as they continued to sway to the sultry, slow beat of the haunting vintage melody, the tonal equivalent of finely aged Cabernet Sauvignon. “I always do the right thing—” he began.

“ _But what if you didn’t_?” Macy’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight as her foot brushed ever-so-tenuously against his own. “We’re human—we both have needs—”

“ _Wants,”_ clarified Harry, “of a sensual sort—”

“I’d be willing,” Macy spoke softly this time, “to scratch your back, if you scratch mine—”

“Of which I’m in _furious_ agreement,” breathed Harry into her ear as a chemistry-laden jolt of electricity deliciously swam from his touch, settling down in the base of her abdomen, yearning to be satiated once more.

“ _Are_ you?” Macy raised an eyebrow, her left hand continuing to caress his shoulder. “And here I thought you were trying to stifle—”

“By _stifle,_ I mean limit them—to the safety of the simulation crystal—” clarified Harry, his elbow guiding them both as they danced across the floor.

“Safety? Or for maintaining your own selfish comfort zone?” Macy retorted as Harry’s cheeks flushed a bright crimson. _Ouch._

“ _Macy Vaughn_ ,” he growled low, causing Macy’s limbs to tremble involuntarily. “Did you just call your Whitelighter _selfish?”_

“What if I did?” Macy refused to back down, her defiant gaze and upturned chin mere millimeters from his own. “Are you going to…” her forehead hotly touched his own, “ _punish me?”_

Without warning, Harry dipped her, her back perilously halted mere centimeters from the hard ground, then raised her perpendicular to the dance floor to face him once more. He shook his head. “Perhaps give you a taste of your own medicine, _more like_ ,” he said with roguish flare.

_9 pm, Two Nights Later, Upstairs Hallway and Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Harry stared at the spare serum in his hand. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought to himself as he swallowed the substance, orbing directly into his oldest charge’s bedroom.

Macy was preoccupied with Reddit “Heaven’s Vice” smut on her phone, _rather unsurprising_ , Harry mused to himself, watching her cheeks flush, her eyes flickering toward the closed bedroom door, which she swiftly locked using her telekinesis. _Good girl,_ he thought to himself.

At that oddly-timed moment, Maggie landed herself outside the bedroom door precisely as Macy began reading about Gideon’s “broad and brawny chest,” a sigh escaping the back of her throat, no doubt visualizing all the possible tawdry fantasies. Macy checked her phone. _9 pm._ Harry had mentioned something about being on her guard at this particular time, but knew he was probably off in his damn simulation crystal once more, smoking his Savinelli pipe and reading the newspaper, when—

_All of a sudden—_

Macy felt herself being kissed in the most sensitive part of her neck, causing her to close her eyes and gasp soundlessly. _Jimmy?_ No, this was someone different, she realized, feeling a familiar set of fingers brush her tawny curls off her shoulders as she reflexively arched her neck in wanton fervor. She felt the digits winding their way down her supple arm to the curvature of her slender melanin wrist, taking one of her fingers in his mouth. “ _Harry?”_ she all but squeaked as the imperceptible form nodded against her shoulder.

“ _Quiet, love,”_ Harry growled, still masked by the cloaking serum as Macy bit her lip, wanting _more,_ squirming against his sensual touch as Maggie continued to talk from a distance—something about “Parker versus Jordan.”

“I’m in the middle of something!” Macy croaked as Harry continued his heady movements about his stubborn charge. Much to her annoyance, Maggie ignored her.

“Just _five minutes,_ Mace?” Maggie called out from outside Macy’s bedroom door, while, inside, Macy felt Harry’s mouth release her now-soaked finger, his hand running now toward the upper curves of her crimson silk negligee as she pushed up against his sensual touch, the pad of his finger brushing against her hardened nubs as she tried to maintain a semblance of composure for the sake of advising her youngest sister on the intricacies of a scorching love triangle. _Oh, for fuck’s sake._

_9:01 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Consider the benefits—” Macy groaned against Harry’s ear as he felt himself involuntarily harden, “— _against the risks_ —” as her telekinesis accidentally knocked her journal against the mirror, causing her hand-drawn portrait of Harry to fly out, caught in the air by the unseen subject himself, still cloaked as the parchment flitted in the air for the next moment or two, seemingly of its own volition.

_9:02 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“But what if they’re equal?” Maggie’s plaintive voice filtered under the doorway as Macy suppressed a moan, Harry’s stray hand fondling her folds, one finger penetrating within, causing her to hiss at the breathtaking sensation as his hardness continued to wreak bruised havoc on her inner thigh. _Going at third base like horny teenagers,_ Macy couldn’t help but muse at the irony of the situation.

“It’s an— _mmfph_ —incredibly— _hard—_ decision—” Macy uttered, hoping Maggie would take her advice and leave as soon as humanly possible, as she felt Harry add a second finger to his heady inward fast-accelerating efforts, causing her ballerina toes to curl inward amongst the now-tangled cotton bedsheets.

_9:03 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“I’ve got a lot of thinking to do,” Maggie remarked as she sat outside her oldest sister’s bedroom, oblivious to the salaciousness within.

“ _Right,”_ Macy gasped as she felt Harry add a _third_ , hitting all the right angles that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. “It’s enough to cause one to _scream_ in frustration—” Harry’s cloaking serum was wearing off as his boxer-clad self flickered into being before her very eyes as his digits moved rapidly within her increasingly-moistened self. In her frenzied state, she still knew the importance of maintaining a modicum—a _shred—_ of dignity as she used her telekinesis to conjure a pillow she threw onto her jawline, _screaming_ as she finally reached her apex, pulsating around the hand of her Whitelighter-turned-seductor.

“ _Awesome_ advice! Thanks sis,” Maggie finally departed, descending the Vera Manor stairwell, absentmindedly humming a Sarah Jeffery song “Even the Stars” as she switched on her phone, plugging her earbuds in.

“ _No problem,”_ Harry and Macy responded in unison, forgetting in that moment exactly where they were.


	5. Dance with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: watch Luther and Allison's "Umbrella Academy" dance scene: https://vimeo.com/318687753

5 Dance with Me

_4 pm, One Week Later, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Can anyone _please_ enlighten us as to _why_ we’re here?” Harry impatiently tutted, sporting his cream-colored silk shirt, accompanying vest, and houndstooth jacket as he sat next to Maggie at the kitchen table. He and Macy had been called out of their respective workplaces for a _very important family meeting_ , according to Mel’s frantically-typed text.

“ _Well?”_ Macy’s eyebrow rose a notch as she stared at Mel’s pacing figure before them. “What’s this all about?”

Mel paused and turned to the three. “Part of my cloaking serum’s gone missing—” Macy and Harry exchanged looks. _Oh shit, we’ve been caught—_ but neither Mel nor Maggie took notice.

“I’ve heard a weird banging upstairs—” interjected Maggie, as Harry’s face began to blush the faintest tinge of crimson. “Kind of… _rhythmic…_ ” she reflected. “In a weird sort of way. At two in the morning.”

“And red beet sugar remnants in the attic,” added Mel, frowning. “My Birkenstocks took a beating—”

“Look, Mel, I can explain—” Harry spoke up on instinct as Macy shot him a not-so-subtle death glare. _Where exactly was he going with this?_

“No need, Harry—we know _exactly_ what’s up—” Mel glanced at Maggie and back at Harry and Macy.

“You…you _do_?” sputtered Macy. She mentally braced herself for the firestorm of _how-could-you’s_ and _what-were-you-thinking’s_ , neither of which occurred, much to her surprise.

“Well, a general idea,” posited Mel. “ _Three_ to be exact. It’s gotta be a ghost, the return of Chloe, or a stowaway sneaking into Vera Manor. My money’s on the ghost, personally, given that Vera Manor’s got wards up the ass—” Harry and Macy exhaled slowly. _So they weren’t caught—not yet at least._

_4:30 pm, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

After Mel’s rousing speech, each of Vera Manor’s various inhabitants formulated a plan to catch the ghost—or Chloe—or whatever it was lurking about at the most unseemly hours of the night. As she made for the exit, Maggie brushed her arm against Macy’s and experienced a tell-tale jolt as she noticed Macy eyeing Harry’s belt—

“ _HE’S GOT A HUGE_ —” Macy’s thoughts rang out clear as a bell—

 _“Maggie, for Christ’s sakes!”_ Macy hissed, yanking her arm away from her youngest sister. _“Boundaries,_ remember?”

Maggie gave her oldest sister a wary look. “Harry’s got a huge—?”

“Bundle of… _sage!_ ” Macy glanced around, trying to come up with an answer on the spot. “ _Sage._ To cleanse Vera Manor of the… _umm…ghost_.”

“You’re hiding something…” Maggie’s voice trailed off as she watched Mel depart in the distance.

“ _No-I’m-not_ —” Macy blurted a bit too quickly.

“You know I’m gonna find out eventually, right? Whatever you’re hiding?” Maggie’s lips were upturned ever-so-slightly, her mouth twitching in amusement. Rather than continue the interrogation, Macy left the kitchen, making a rapid beeline up the Vera Manor staircase to her bedroom.

_8 pm, Closet, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

After dinner (Beef Wellington for Harry, Macy, and Mel, and vegan Pad Thai for Maggie), the four proceeded to divide and conquer for the evening. Mel would guard the kitchen and living room, Maggie would venture to the basement, and Macy and Harry would cover the attic and bedrooms.

“Bundle of _sage?”_ Harry couldn’t help but smirk as he helped Macy dust off various journals gathering dust in her bedroom closet.

Macy blushed. “It was the best I could think of at the time.”

“If I recall correctly, you were peering down at my—” he raised his eyebrows suggestively as she turned away, standing on her tiptoes to retrieve yet another box of her written work, “MACY, _LOOK OUT!”_ he pushed Macy out of the way as the box tumbled forth, notebooks of every which shape, texture, and color spilling out where her form had been mere seconds ago. “Are you alright l—?” He wanted to say the word _love_ so badly but knew anything they uttered was at risk of being overheard by Macy’s younger sisters or others calling upon the house.

Macy nodded. “I-I think so,” she uttered shakily as she took Harry’s proffered hand and pulled herself upright. He plucked one of the older journals, the one with the spotted feline lynx pattern emblazoned on it, and picked a random entry. “ _I dreamt of him again, the mysterious dark-haired, pale, handsome one—he haunts my dreams,"_ he read aloud, noting the accompanying doodle of a chestnut-haired gentleman, _whose resemblance was uncanny_ , he thought to himself, as he turned to the woman before him. “ _Mace,_ is that— _me_?”

_8:15 pm, Closet, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Macy’s cheeks flushed as she took a moment to steady her breath, finally nodding. “You weren’t supposed to read that.”

“How long ago was this written, if you don’t mind my asking?” Harry inquired, licking his index finger to turn the page, though he noted the date-stamp. _Macy, meticulous as always._

“College,” she answered, avoiding his glance. “I know this sounds crazy, but…I blacked out after karaoke one night. And no matter how hard I try to remember, I don’t know what happened. All I recall is dreaming, over and over, of a tall, handsome guy with chestnut hair, kind eyes and a warm smile _._ I kept seeing him in his suit vests and formal button-up houndstooth jackets. It never made any sense; college kids my age _never_ dressed like that. But something about him felt wonderful—reassuring— _comforting_ , even—like home _._ " Macy paused. “Like _you,”_ she all but whispered.

She inched closer to Harry in the enclosed closet space; he placed the lynx-patterned journal back on the upper shelf. “Is that weird?” Macy asked him. “That’s _gotta_ be weird, right? I’m sorry, I know it’s crazy,” but she was silenced as they fell into a near-magnetic embrace, Harry sweeping the tawny curls from her visage.

“ _No,_ ” Harry murmured as he kissed Macy’s forehead gently. “You’re not crazy.” He paused, thinking back to where he was a decade before, suit jackets, sweater vests, and all. For whatever reason, his memory was a blur, _uncharacteristically for him_ , but he recalled having a peculiar fondness for the sight of box braids and karaoke that had not gone unnoticed by Macy herself in the present day.

“ _Aren’t I?_ “ Macy reflected on the current situation she found herself in. “I’m a Ph.D. lab rat who was told less than a year ago she was a witch with two younger sisters, _and_ I’m in a closet with my Whitelighter chasing a ghost—" she bit her lip as her eyes sparkled in the lone lamplight. “A _sexy_ ghost."

“Who apparently has a _huge_ bundle of sage—” Harry’s eyes had suddenly become dark and smoldering as Macy felt her heart skip a beat.

She felt herself nod as his visage moved close, and closer _still_ , until his lips met her own, colliding in a frenzied tango, their tongues jostling as they found themselves tripping over wayward journals, their arms grasping in the cover of darkness to the very back of the closet, past the tangle of motley striped cardigan sweaters, silk magenta negligees, and power suits of various materials and textures. “Good _Lord_ , woman, how much clothing do you own?” he murmured as Macy’s breath hitched.

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know,” she murmured as she found herself pressed against the wall straddling Harry’s well-toned body, biting the nape of his neck as hard as she possibly could as he gasped, thrusting himself into the uppermost quadrant of her thigh.

_8:20 pm, Deep inside Macy’s Closet, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

_“Stop—moving—the—boxes!”_ Harry whispered, alternately licking and kissing the most sensitive part of Macy’s neck as she shook her head rapidly.

“I can’t— _control—it—”_ she gasped as more stray boxes flew out from over them, hitting the closet door loudly. Harry’s clothed hardness hit the base of her core over her thin cotton undergarments, a moan escaping her sensuous lips as they achieved an ineffable cadence, a fast-increasing tempo of outer friction-based rhythm, enveloped as they were in a sordid embrace, ensconced in a flurry of covert, clandestine kisses.

“What now?” Harry murmured in her ear. Macy thought for a moment. _The bedroom door—was it locked? If it wasn’t and her sisters heard them, they’d arrive in seven minutes to interrogate. Ten, if they were lucky._

“You. Here. _NOW,”_ Macy uttered, as a delightful shiver ran down the base of Harry’s spine. As much as he tried to deny it to himself, he secretly loved when she ordered him about.

“ _Anything for you, love_ ,” he whispered.

_8:22 pm, Deep inside Macy’s Closet, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Macy crouched low, ducking below her winter wardrobe as she hurriedly unzipped Harry’s trousers, freeing his stiffened self. After a moment of silent admiration of the sturdiness that was his perpendicular pillar, she enveloped his very self within the warmth of her lips, tasting droplets of his preparatory salty essence at the base of her tongue as he groaned, clutching at her tawny curls, as if begging for her to continue.

She paused her seductive movements, angling her head _just so_ , in a uniquely inquisitive manner. “Shall I continue?” she asked softly, muffled by the jutting appendage. Harry fervently nodded, his back now flush with the closet wall. _Was this really happening—here, of all places?_ He pinched himself and stifled a yelp. _Indeed it would seem so._

“Y-Yes, Macy,” he stammered, trying his best to keep his wits about him.

“ _What’s_ —” her tongue moved up his shaft as he bucked involuntarily. “ _The magic_ —” she descended upon his hardened self as he thrusted again, “ _word_?”

“ _P-Please,”_ Harry hissed almost imperceptibly, Macy’s curls still firmly in his grasp, as he cradled her head ever closer to continue her… _attentive pursuits_.

_8:24 pm, Deep inside Macy’s Closet, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Macy felt his area below tighten upward and knew the tell-tale throb would soon ensue. On a whim, she dug her fingers, interlaced with his, firmly into the closet wall behind them as his movements grew increasingly frantic, furious, _feverish_ , culminating moments upon moments later in his muffled shout, emptying his essence into her wanting lips.

_8:27 pm, Deep inside Macy’s Closet, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

No sooner had they straightened themselves out, did the pair hear Maggie and Mel’s footsteps bang up the stairs, into the hallway, and straight into the cozy confines of Macy’s own bedroom. _Seven minutes precisely,_ she thought to herself, rolling her eyes as she smoothed Harry’s chestnut hair and kissed his sweaty forehead. “Here,” she brandished a sleeve of her cotton shirt in his direction, hanging on the closet’s side. “Wipe your forehead.”

He glanced questioningly at the fabric then back at Macy. “I couldn’t _possibly_ desecrate it—”

She laughed. “I haven’t worn it in ages. Plus it could use a bit of _eau de Harry,_ no?”

“ _Very well.”_ Harry mopped his brow as best he could and the two surveyed each other closely for tell-tale signs of amorous activity. “Ready?” Macy nodded as he subtly grasped her shapely behind, shoving her forward just the tiniest bit toward the open closet door, where she knew full well her sisters were waiting. _Here goes nothing,_ she thought as she found herself departing the creviced darkness for the lone lamplight, which soon led to the cozy, familiar brightness of her bedroom.

_8:28 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“ _Oh my Gawd_ ,” breathed Maggie as Macy gave a start. _Shit, had she forgotten to clean something up? If only she had five more minutes—_

“Harry,” Mel gasped. “You-you’re bleeding…” she pointed to a tiny cut in the middle of Harry’s neck.

“The ghost—it left a mark!” exclaimed Maggie, as everyone turned to stare at her.

“Maggie,” remonstrated Mel. “Ghosts don’t leave cuts. Not like that.” Macy felt Harry’s eyes bore into her. _Shit, shit shit…_

“I blame the boggart,” Harry spoke up. “Fierce creature from the Potterverse, lurks in closets, abominable, _really._ ” _Damn, he sounded so authoritative in that British accent of his_ , mused Macy, watching as Harry healed himself with a touch of his hand and orbed out before Maggie or Mel could get a word in edgewise.

_9 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Hilltowne, Michigan_

“Are you ok?” Harry smiled as he turned around, coming face-to-face with Macy herself, her smile, her tresses, her _all_.

“More or less,” he answered casually as he swished what Macy recognized to be a glass of Chardonnay. “To take the edge off earlier,” he said by way of explanation as he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and playing a song Macy recognized as “Dancing in the Moonlight” from the popular TV series, “The Umbrella Academy.”

The song played, if Macy recalled correctly, during the scene in which Luther and Allison, adopted siblings, transformed their casual clothes to formalwear to dance under a bevy of tea lights. “Dance with me?” he asked in a low voice, his head nodding slightly as if in a courteous bow.

“What if they see us?” Macy couldn’t help but ask. _Her sisters._

“Technically, the song is danced between a brother and sister, eliciting zero appearance of impropriety,” Harry replied.

“An _adopted unrelated_ Caucasian brother and part-African American sister with complicated romantic feelings—” interjected Macy, though she took his proffered hand.

“—Reflective of our current situation,” Harry completed her sentence.

“ _Quite,”_ she answered as they began to swing dance beneath the trellised tea lights.

_9:01 and 10 seconds pm, Maggie’s Window, Vera Manor Garden, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Bored of her psychology homework, Maggie glanced outside and found herself entranced by the happenings below in the garden. In a sudden burst of inspiration, she dove her hand into her ivory makeup stand, retrieving a spare bottle of glamour powder. Cracking open the window just a fraction of an inch, she sprinkled it to the couple down below…

_9:01 and 20 seconds pm, Vera Manor Garden, Hilltowne, Michigan_

Instantly, the pair were enveloped in a green cloud of smoke, which thinned almost as abruptly as it had begun. The music still playing, Macy found herself in a spaghetti strap-lined plum-colored dress, with Harry sporting a marble-blue suit jacket, matching slacks, and white dress shirt. “ _Did you…?_ ” Macy and Harry asked each other, puzzled, before staring upward to the adjoining window. _Maggie._

“ _I think your sister approves_ ,” Harry murmured in Macy’s ear as she bit her lip and smiled.


	6. Pass Me a Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place toward the end of S2E12 when Harry sees Macy pass what he thinks is a note for him (spoiler: it's not). Lots of sensual analogies, allegories, etc.

6 Pass Me a Note

_7 pm, A Few Months Later, Café, SafeSpace, Seattle, Washington_

Recalling Maggie’s conversation in the dead of night, months ago, brought Harry inordinate amounts of shame. “How on _earth_ do you accidentally kiss someone?” he recalled himself exclaiming to the young woman regarding her Parker-Lucy love triangle dalliance. Recent events led him to deeply regret judging Maggie in what he now recognized was a paternalistic manner.

It was easy to kiss someone else—if you were desperate and hopeless—and impatient enough. _And tired of hiding in simulation orbs and back gardens and attic hallways and life-threateningly messy coat closets._ He knew he wanted more in his lifetime, whatever that meant. Harry felt sick of Purgatory, always waiting for the right time, the covert place, the hidden alleys of deceit he initially thought he and Macy were constantly inveigled in.

_Truth be told, Harry was tired of being a secret._

He knew he had forever, _literally_ , but quintessentially British, he did not want to waste his forever in a constant, agonizing cat and mouse game. He wanted long-term companionship, even if it meant thinking outside the box. However, true to his errant humanoid ways, he had once again thought _too_ _much_ outside the box, causing his judgment to become clouded once more.

And now he found himself sipping a drink, seated several inches to the left of a certain Dr. Macy Vaughn in Seattle, Washington, of all places.

_7:10 pm, Café, SafeSpace, Seattle, Washington_

In his high-acuity field of vision, he spotted what appeared to be a folded note, its corner edge of alabaster jutting out of her gentle-curved melanin grip, conspicuous yet part-and-parcel of her alluring air of mystery. Engaged once more in their all-too-familiar subconscious mimicry, his head cocked _just so_ at her tight but pliant fist surrounding the marble-hued note with its hard-seeming clandestine messaging, he wondered what would happen if he took a chance and rubbed his finger gently atop that slit. Would she yield and give sway with a coquettish flair, instantly shifting her clandestine secretive literature into his waiting, altogether _wanting_ hold? Whereby he would massage her muscles tenuously at first, then with heightened fervor till kingdom come, causing them both to drop any and all semblance of propriety?

 _Is that for me?_ His hesitant, anxious-yet-hopeful eyes wandered toward Macy’s own. Ever since Macy’s power acquisition and after her relinquishment, he and Macy communicated with their eyes _wordlessly, soundlessly_ , in a confidential language only understood to them both, that he had never come across prior in all his decades as a Whitelighter.

_She shook her head._

_Bollocks._

_9 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

There was a knock at her door. “Come in!” Macy called out. “Door’s unlocked.” She heard the twist of the brass-gold doorknob grasped by the all-too-familiar digits of a certain _someone_ who had seen the most intimate aspects of her very own human body, and her breath hitched for a second. She was letting _him_ into her inner sanctum.

_And there he stood in the threshold, all five-foot-seven-inches of pure, unadulterated, Whitelighter brawn._

She swallowed hard. It was times like these she wished she had an inner script or a speech prepared, but she had neither. Somehow, this moment seemed so inconsequential…but significant in an ineffable, instinctual sort of way that would determine the next decades to follow. _Would she have him stay or leave?_

_9:02 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

They spent the next two minutes silently gazing at each other, Macy becoming lost once more in his kind eyes, his chest, his chestnut hair that she spent more time than she’d admit in the past months wondering whether she would comb her fingers through them again. As if sensing her thoughts, Harry angled his head, his eyes twinkling with somber amusement. _Ogling me, at this hour? Really?_

He cleared his throat indelicately. “I have something to say. May I come in?” Macy nodded and he entered, shutting the door behind her, a sudden sense of warmth, fresh air, and the mysterious scent of pine wood permeating her senses as he made his way in, firmly and gently as ever.

_9:05 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After a moment of making themselves comfortable on the bedspread, fully clothed with their backs against the headboard, he finally spoke, seated once more next to the woman he had always adored. “I apologize for earlier,” Harry stated. “It was presumptuous to think the note was for me.”

Macy’s expression softened. “ _Not_ presumptuous,” she replied softly, hesitating for the briefest of moments, before realizing that this was _Harry_ , her trusted Whitelighter, despite whomever he had kissed weeks ago in whatever dank bookshelf he had chosen to entangle himself beneath. “ _Parker’s alive.”_

“ _What?_ Parker’s al—!”

“Shh! Not so loud,” Macy hissed covering his mouth with a firm thrust of her hand, motioning to the hallway. _Maggie._ “He gave me a note for her—”

“A note that’s currently not in her possession?” Harry eyed Macy carefully, though not wanting to overstep in the sisterly conflict he could predict would someday ensue.

“I-I know,” breathed Macy. “She’s _so_ happy though— _finally._ He hurt her, Harry. I want him gone. _Forever._ But he won’t be and there’s nothing I can do about it,” she ended, sounding altogether resigned.

Harry gave a curt nod as he glanced at the folded piece of paper she still continued to hold within her control, unwilling as ever to part with it. He understood Macy’s protective sentiment easily enough, but…”Is that,” Harry began cautiously, “how you feel about _me?_ ”

“ _What?”_ Macy all but shrieked. “ _No,_ Harry,” as she shook her head, her deliciously wavy curls tumbling forth this way and that. “Why would you think that?”

_9:09 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“I-I…” he stammered then strode to her closet, went inside, and closed the door behind him.

“Harry, what on _earth?_ ” Macy exclaimed. _What the hell?_

“This is the only way I can get my feelings out. Confessional-like,” he added after a beat. “As they say, _old habits die hard._ Let me continue, please?”

“O-okay.” Macy’s fingers began trembling atop her silken nightgown, her breathing growing ragged, as she willed herself to steady, knowing that in her Whitelighter’s presence it would be like asking a storm cloud to halt a rainstorm.

“I want to apologize for earlier—”

Macy raised an eyebrow. “But you already did—”

“I mean, I want to apologize for earlier, _in SafeSpace._ ” Harry ran his fingers through his hair nervously, pacing about the fast-enveloping darkness. _Where to even begin?_ “I was taken off guard, I was desperate, hopeless, impatient, and I let that cloud my judgment. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh _my._

 _So we’re actually going_ there, Macy thought to herself, with some trepidation. “Harry, really—you don’t have to—”

“ _Do_ let me have this moment,” Harry interjected, then continued. “I wanted you, waited for absolute proof of affirmative consent as I’ve always been taught in the field of women’s studies—”

“Affirmative consent?” _Interesting._ “Right, but…I talk in subtleties. That’s how I roll—”

Harry gave a weak chuckle. “I _know_ , love, it’s just—it’s against my Whitelighter nature to pressure a lady into having feelings for me. Or to conjure feelings where there may be none, especially in such a unique professional working environment. I don’t know what you’re thinking and you drive me _utterly_ mad—”

“Even now?” Macy’s heart stilled in that moment.

“ _Especially now.”_ Harry’s voice rang out from behind the closet door, punctuated by what she thought was… _a sob_? “I regret my foolish actions,” he choked out.

_9:11 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“We weren’t an item,” Macy uttered. “I mean, we didn’t have a label. _I mean_ , that doesn’t excuse… _that_ ,” as she imagined a certain half-witch whose punchable face she wanted to pummel that very moment. “But I’ve a habit of pushing loved ones away.” She realized she was beginning to ramble. “Things got—” she paused, searching for the right phrase. “ _Lost in translation._ ”

She regarded the closed closet door, absorbing what Harry had said in the past several minutes. “ _Please_ , Harry, can you come out? You’re starting to scare me—are you ok?” Macy all but pleaded.

_9:15 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

She heard the closet door creak open. Harry’s eyes now bloodshot, he sought absolution in her supple, unwavering arms as they embraced for the first time in weeks, _months,_ even. “ _Mace,”_ he whispered in her ear, beneath her delicate, blooming tresses. “ _Can we start over?_ ”

_9:25 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After more conversation, tears and such, Macy motioned Harry over to her queen-sized bed.

“Spoon with me?” she asked quietly, her gaze never leaving his own. He nodded imperceptibly as he glanced closely at her curvy figure, mimicry in action once more as they slowly reacquainted themselves with each other. _No intercourse tonight,_ her eyes seemed to bore into his, and he understood this moment to be one of intimate reconciliation instead, watching as she lifted her deep turquoise silken nightgown in oceanic, marine waves in both crested fists, lifting the fabric inch-by-inch by its seams, past her upper knee, her creamy thigh, the curvature of both hips, the angle of her smoothened, pristine waist.

He watched as the clothed sheen made its way upward, lightly grazing her inward navel, the spherical semilunar curves of her orbs, and their accompanying dusky rose nubs that he secretly hoped someday would nourish future children conceived in a highly-erotic magical instance of pure lust and love with this goddess of light and darkness situated before him. His gaze was riveted upon the angulature of her arched shoulders and swan-like neck, as she finally relinquished its hold upon her body, tossing it lightly aside next to her. _Your turn,_ she looked over at him as he swallowed hard.

_9:29 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Harry removed his white 100% cotton undershirt, whose hold on him had graced Macy with an impeccable view of his pectoral muscles. He used a thumb, then another, to grasp the inseam of his dark plaid and altogether sensible flannel pajama bottoms, pulling his pants down past his freshly-starched fabric boxers, past his well-honed thighs, calve muscles, until he shook himself from them and tossed the casual pants across the room, neatly landing on the upper lip of the wooden bureau.

The pair laid down atop the bed, Harry’s taller form curving and surrounding Macy’s lithe, limber figure. He realized his hardness was bearing down upon her spine and made to apologize. “I’m sorry—” he began, as he awkwardly shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t involve the very suggestion of seduction itself. _This was neither the time nor the place,_ Harry silently berated himself.

“ _Don’t be,”_ Macy murmured, using her arms to bring him closer to her, abject hardness and all. “You’re human _,_ not an automaton.”

“ _I missed you_ ,” Harry breathed, sweeping Macy’s tawny curls to plant a kiss upon the shadows of her jasmine-scented skin.

“ _I missed you too_ ,” Macy responded in turn as she brought his muscular tapered hands to rest upon her front, full, firm, and delicate, craving his very Whitelighter touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow me on Twitter @MelanijaParadis for Charmed-inspired piano improv music (what if the Darklighter played the piano? et cetera), AO3 posts, and more!


	7. An Inheritance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macy receives a letter and makes life decisions. Note threshold symbolism: boundary between life and death. Also, hearkening back to S2E2 where Harry eyes Macy outside the nightclub, what if, this time, it were Macy who's *thirsty*?
> 
> This is a prequel to my other fic "On Lorenz Theory & Love" & sequel "Of Ginger & Spice," both of which have been entered into the WattyAwards 2020 competition.

7 An Inheritance

_5 pm, Saturday, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Macy heard a knock at the front door; puzzled, she glanced out the curtained front window and noticed a rather official-looking uniformed mail courier. She opened the door. “Are you Macy Vaughn?” The man didn’t mince words.

“Who’s asking?” _Just answer the question, lady,_ Macy imagined him saying as he looked at the envelope he carried and back up at her. “I mean… _yes_ I’m her. Yeah.” Upon those words, the courier gave her a note to sign and handed her a cream-colored envelope that appeared light as a feather but weighed a bit more than she would have expected.

“A letter for Macy Vaughn,” he tipped his hat and left before Macy could get a word in edgewise.

_5:03 pm, Saturday, Front Entryway and Alcove, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_What on earth? And why was a signature required?_ Knowing she wouldn’t gather any answers from the now-gone mail courier, she glanced back down at the envelope she held and re-entered Vera Manor, closing the door behind her and unsealing the envelope just past the threshold.

She pulled out a plain piece of paper. _“To the next of kin, Macy Vaughn, property of Valensi (vis-à-vis lineage Vaughn) descendants: Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands.”_ She made as though to toss the blank envelope away but felt a hard piece within— _metal?_ Her now-shaking fingers reached in and grabbed the tiny object. _A brass, nondescript key._ She peered at the instructions. _Property? Azores…Islands? A key? Oh my God—_

“What happened?” Harry’s voice echoed from the kitchen where he was fixing a dinner of lamb chops with mint sauce. Macy gave a start then recovered herself quickly. “N-nothing—just a letter—” Grasping the brass key and letter contents in her hand, she raced upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom.

_5:05 pm, Saturday, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Her thoughts raced. _Secrets. First a mother who’s not really deceased. And two sisters I never knew about. And now—this._ Dexter had never told her their family had property in the Azores—the islands where Dexter’s ancestors supposedly came from. _Perhaps this was a well-meaning attempt on his part, to make sure she wouldn’t be over-reliant on money and land instead of brains and ambition?_

Macy collected herself. _If there was property in her name, she had to ensure it was well-kept and maintained, right?_ And she had a key. _So what was she waiting for?_ She looked up the Azores on her phone. _Seven hours’ time difference._ It was around midnight there, and she could easily go to the Command Center to pick up a marble and portal hidden enough.

_5:15 pm, Saturday, SafeSpace Command Center, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Once in the underground confines of the Command Center, Macy rechecked the location of the Azores coordinates on the overhead map (37.7412 N, 25.6756 W), pushed the red spherical button, retrieved her marble, took a deep breath, and portaled away into the darkness.

_5:20 pm Saturday/12:20 am Azores, Sunday, Front Doorstep of Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Macy glanced around her, reading the “23” placard written to the right of the front doorway. Life began and ended on thresholds and doorsteps, for as long as she could remember. First, it was her infant self held by her mother Marisol outside Vera Manor. Then, it was said photo she displayed to her sisters as she stood in Vera Manor’s threshold, decades later before a thunderous power outage. _Why was she always on the outside looking in?_ It wasn’t a matter of being _smart_ enough, or _brave_ enough—whatever the universe had decided, the fates had made happen. She, Macy Vaughn, constantly toed the symbolic threshold of the dead and the living, having been stillborn and reawakened through the unnatural manifestations of the necromancer. _The threshold_ , she recalled hearing on TV once, _was where ghosts supposedly lurked for that very reason._

Dusting herself off, she surveyed her surroundings. _A residential neighborhood._ There was a stop sign a block away, though the intersection was so tucked away amidst hibiscus plants that there hardly seemed need for one at all. The serenity was overwhelming in a pleasant, somewhat captivating way that pulled her toward the earth. _Stay and build a future here_ , the invisible wind seemed to whisper, as she found herself awash in the scent of summery honeysuckle and fragrant plumerias. Macy felt a sense of calm unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

 _But I can’t stay here,_ she thought to herself. _I have Harry. My sisters. Vera Manor, Charmed One responsibilities—_ one excuse tumbled forth from another, as she turned around and studied the condo’s layout, one next to the other, alongside a corner silhouette of palm trees outlining the clear, moonlit sky. _I’m here to assume ownership of a bit of property—that’s all._ She reached in her purse for the brass key, which she placed into the keyhole, twisting the brass knob, stepping inside, her heart racing.

_5:25 pm Saturday/12:25 am Azores, Sunday, Alcove, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Her initial impression was that the condo was austere-yet classy, and probably similar to the adjoining island architecture. The alcove entryway with its tidy tiny wood table led to a well-kept interior. Macy laid her jogging jacket on the tiny table (the weather was 75 degrees after all). The condo was designed with an open floor plan, with cream-tiled flooring common to the tropics, with a small living room area (a sleek modern couch and coffee table), plus a barstool-style state-of-the-art kitchen countertop.

_5:27 pm Saturday/12:27 am Azores, Sunday, Master Bedroom and Bathroom, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Macy walked to the furthest room on the right, which appeared to be the master bedroom with a sizeable bed—larger than the one she had back at Vera Manor. _Likely king-sized. Hopefully with sound-proof windows and damage-proof walls?_ The room was pale-colored with a gauzy alabaster-hued curtained window. Perhaps one day, not now, but once she fixed everything up, she would bring Harry over for a visit. _Or two. Or three…_

There was an adjoining master bathroom with a decrepit-looking showerhead she knew required replacing.

_5:30 pm Saturday/12:30 am Azores, Sunday, Condo Interior, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

The spare bathroom across from the master bathroom and living area was to the left of the condo’s entryway, discreetly tucked away. Macy noticed the mirror was impeccably clean, just as Harry himself would like it. She had a slight stab of guilt that she hadn’t told _him_ of all people of her inheritance, but she was proud of her powerful, strong family and didn’t want his first impression of her inherited property to be of a half-falling-off showerhead in the master bathroom. _There will be time later,_ she mused to herself, imagining Harry arriving here, _home_ , busying himself in front of the mirror, shedding his dress shirt and slacks, and meeting her in the hot tub for wine and cuddles of a _particularly_ sensuous sort…

The balcony was decent-sized and had a four-foot-deep hot tub toward its middle-left area. The condo, Macy noticed, was situated far from the ocean, likely to avoid unwanted attention in the form of hordes of obnoxious tourists, et cetera. Closing the screened door behind her, she returned to the kitchen area and checked the fridge, hoping that its previous tenants did not leave any “ _surprises.”_ Luckily, they hadn’t; it was well-scrubbed and empty. She wished she had brought sparkling water from Vera Manor, some fruits, and veggies perhaps. _Oh well. Perhaps there was a marketplace she could explore next weekend?_

_5:35 pm Saturday/12:35 am Azores, Sunday, Middle of Condo, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

It also occurred to Macy, in that same moment, glancing at the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, and the hot tub—that she could move out of Vera Manor and start life anew, like Ray attempted. She could relinquish magic _forever—_ never worrying about the next Kyon attack that would knock her out, or an errant but well-meaning satyr that would put her at risk of a dislocated shoulder from sheer drunkenness, not to mention the resultant agonizing hangover. _What if she could have complete freedom, peace and quiet—and peace of mind—forever?_

Choosing so would require James Bond-level skills and a highly intricate execution plan for going undercover, not to mention a solid source of income. All that was tied to Maggie and SafeSpace, plus her own SafeSpace duties shepherding people around as the need arose. Her sisters would probably find her too, demanding an explanation for why she left. _I can’t do that to Maggie and Mel,_ Macy realized in that instant. _I can’t leave them. I can’t leave them to fend for themselves, putting their lives at risk by breaking the Power of Three when we need it the most. Not when our powers are coming back._

A part of her knew that with a beach in the tropics came _extremely_ well-toned men on surfboards and the like. What if she ended up with one of them, alone on the island, and raised children together? _It wouldn’t be the same._

 _I want Harry,_ Macy realized. _I want him to see this place once I’ve fixed it up. I want us to create something beautiful here. I want—_ a tear rolled down her cheek, which she brushed away with a flick of her wrist. _No—I—_

_I need him._

_5:45 pm Saturday/12:45 am Azores, Sunday, Middle of Condo, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

_I could live here part-time_ , Macy mused to herself. _A real-life simulation crystal of sorts. A reprieve from the magical and mortal world, for privacy, to take a breather._ She wasn’t ready to tell Mel or Maggie and who knew what stronghold protections were in place to keep the property in her Vaughn-Valensi family line?

Based on Vaughn family folklore, Denis Serge had been captured, abducted from Africa, and brought to the Azores against his will. There, he demonstrated excellent skills that attracted the attention of Terezinha Giordana, an adopted orphan of ambiguous ethnicity. Her father died, her step-brothers tried to force her into marriage to a Mr. Morton Chase, a rather mean travelling evangelical, but the pair eloped, found their fortune abroad, and returned after all step-brothers had died to buy a small plot of land that stayed in the family and eventually became the Epicenter Pico of today.

 _According to bedtime stories._ Stories Dexter had told Macy as a child—stories Macy thought were mere folktales—but had been true all along!

The next bit of family folklore was based in the 1920s-1940s. There were three sisters—Della, Dora, and Darcy Valensi, all of whom lived on one roof in the Epicenter Pico land Macy stood upon at that very moment. The three sisters had been born in the 1920s or so. Darcy “ _broke their powers”_ by leaving to Manchester, England during WWII to become a jazz singer. Rumor was she had a son, but the details were fuzzy since she apparently died there from an errant bomb blast. When a young Macy asked Dexter what “breaking” their powers meant, Dexter shrugged. He mentioned something about them being the island’s healers. And that the village, _Madalena,_ was named in honor of Darcy Madalena Valensi, who had saved the town from untold destruction and disease.

 _Harry lived in Manchester in the war,_ Macy knew. _Did he know Darcy back then?_ Macy shook her head at her runaway thoughts. Once again, her imagination was galloping ahead of reality. If he had known her ancestor back then, he would have said something.

_Right?_

_5:55 pm Saturday/12:55 am Azores, Sunday, Alcove, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Retrieving her jogging jacket from the tiny wooden table, Macy made a mental list of everything she needed—a new shower head, directions to a marketplace (for sparkling water, tropical fruit, vegetables) and cradled her return marble in the palm of her now-steady, unwavering hand.

_6:20 pm Saturday, Front Doorstep, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Vera Manor was her home with her sisters and of course, _Harry_. How would she flit between Vera Manor and a condo that could hold two adults (plus two more max, or three small kids)? Not that she was in a hurry about kids. Though her mind wandered absentmindedly as she thought of the master bedroom she’d left behind, half a world away, which was large enough to hold a crib. Or a tiny bed. _What would their kids look like? Hypothetically, of course._

Macy imagined her curly hair in delicate ringlets upon a little girl’s soft hazel visage coupled with a hint of Harry’s upturned smile. _Dimples, too._ Or a young boy that resembled Harry, with his philosophical, inquisitive nature. Perhaps, _even,_ a redhaired girl, due to Macy’s own knowledge of partial recessive genetic variants of hair color. _Snap out of it!_ Macy remonstrated herself as she stood back up and walked inside Vera Manor once more.

_6:30 pm Saturday, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

She had been gone only an hour and a half, but it felt like a lifetime, as she sat down at the kitchen table for the much-anticipated lamb chops with mint sauce. It was just them two that night; Mel had business with Kat to attend to, and Maggie was working a late evening shift with Jordan at SafeSpace.

“You seem awfully quiet,” Harry remarked as he poured pureed mint sauce onto his plate. Macy blushed slightly. Harry was preternaturally aware of her mood’s ebbs and flows; such was to be expected of a Whitelighter who had decades of specialized knowledge in Women’s Studies.

“I’m fine,” Macy replied. “I just…” her voice trailed off. “I just have a lot to think about. Nothing scary,” she added hastily, in case Harry should grow worried. “Just _unexpected._ And _different._ ”

“Does that have anything to do with the courier earlier today?” So he _had_ noticed that too.

Macy nodded. “My dad, Dexter, left me something that had been in the family for ages. But I need time to think it over. Privacy.”

“ _You have my word.”_ Harry’s sympathetic eyes glanced over at Macy as she placed a tiny morsel of lamb in her mouth, chewing and swallowing with a small gasp indicating she was savoring the utter deliciousness of it all. _Success_ , he mused to himself happily. “I won’t ask you to disclose anything unless you’re ready.” He understood the need for discretion.

“Thanks,” Macy smiled gratefully at Harry. “And thanks for dinner. It’s _phenomenal._ But everything about you _is,”_ she ended in a murmur as he clasped her hand in a show of silent affection.

_7:15 pm Saturday, Kitchen to Staircase to Bathroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Drying dishes that Harry washed, she snuck a glance at just below his belt, trying her best to recall his particular… _anatomy_. The subtle curvature, the winding vein or two that connected that intimate part of him with his upper extremities, the way a single touch would be enough to unleash a heady moan and a grasp of her wrists if he felt so inclined—

And a thought suddenly struck her regarding an Azores showerhead that needed replacing. _What if she made a cast-metal mold of his…_ phallus _…symbolically letting a part of him into her Azores condo?_ That way he’d be part of her journey there—a really, _really_ weird part. In a really, _really_ weird way. _But a part, nonetheless._ Until she was ready to show him in, whether that would be weeks or months later. Knowing the full scope of her eidetic memory and SafeSpace’s new state-of-the-art metallurgy 3-D printer, she knew it wasn’t _entirely_ outside the realm of possibility—

“ _Like what you see_?” Harry’s eyes fixated on her own, tenuously but lion-like, reminding her of the time they spent outside the nightclub, causing her to utter a quick gasp at the memory—as she was often wont to do, whenever he made the barest hint at seduction. _A side of him that was for her eyes only._

She swallowed hard and placed the dishtowel back on the drying rack. She walked toward the stairs then turned around, the curvature of her sloping silhouette emanating from the base of the bannister. “ _Yes,_ Harry. And I’d like to examine it further. _In the bath._ ”

Harry gaped as she turned and ascended the ornate staircase.

Oh.

Oh _my._

He could feel a sudden tightness developing at the base of his abdomen that threatened to engulf him then and there. Leaving the last piece of silverware in the sink basin, he hurried after her. “ _Macy,”_ he uttered. “Are you sure?”

She was at the head of the stairs now. “Harry Greenwood,” she called to him down below, “I want you sharing a deliciously-hot bath with me _right now_. _Understood?”_

“M-Most _definitely,”_ Harry breathed, his eyes growing dark and smoldering as he orbed to the top of the staircase, sweeping Macy off her feet, carrying her amidst a storm of kisses past the bathroom threshold a meter away, laying her gently next to the pristine bathtub.

_7:20 pm Saturday, Bathroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Harry turned on the bathtub faucet as Macy placed the drain stopper in the tub. Once that had been done, she slowly strode over to meet him at his end of the bathtub, closing the distance that had been between the pair, until they were no more than inches apart. Deciding to seize the moment for all it was worth, Macy reached out to stroke his chest as his eyes closed; she unbuttoned the top-most button, kissing that spot, unbuttoned the next and kissed that area, another button where her lips planted themselves soon after, as Harry uttered the barest of headlong sighs.

 _Sheer, blissful agony, woman,_ Harry thought to himself as Macy continued her trek down to the lower regions of his dress shirt, finally unclasping the last button as he shook himself free of the garment, yanking the terry cloth towels inches away, to hurriedly place his dress shirt atop the now-empty towel rack. _Randy_ and _wrinkle-free,_ he wryly mused to himself as he turned to face Macy once more, who now bore an amused expression on her visage. “Keeping things classy?” Macy remarked, her eyebrow arched as he involuntarily shivered.

“ _Like you wouldn’t believe,”_ he replied, his mouth firmly planting onto her warmth as their tongues inveigled themselves of each other once more. He unzipped Macy’s jogging jacket which fell to the ground, revealing—

 _A black, netted sports brassiere. Oh sweet Hera—_ Harry felt himself grow even _tighter_ if such a thing were possible. Macy moaned as he traced the underlying seam of the skimpy-yet-structured attire, moving the undergarment upward and off of her rotund, semilunar orbs with their dusky rose nubs, concentrating his attention _there,_ as she tossed the garb aside—he took one nub into his lips, his tongue making a distinct upward, then circular motion, repeating the same on the other, as he felt her hands grasp his chestnut hair, indicating her undeniable, unabashed _want_ of him and him _alone._

_7:25 pm Saturday, Bathroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Macy broke free of Harry’s grasp leaving him puzzled, until he realized she was doing so to shut the tap to prevent water from overflowing, though there was still a good few inches until that was in danger of occurring. She also made a reach for the sink cabinet, where she took out a small cylindrical neon-colored piece. “Macy, what’s _that?”_ Harry couldn’t help but ask. “Is _that—”_ He paused. _An intimate…toy? A bar of soap? A…?_

She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. “A bath bomb. I order it every so often to unwind. This time, the scent is cotton candy, brandied pear, and homemade caramel, with natural minerals and essential oils.”

“Oh, _Mace,_ ” he sighed in ecstasy watching as she deftly used a fingernail to puncture the cellophane plastic, unraveling the hardened core, dropping it in the tub where it sizzled to no end in a veritable explosion of color. “That sounds _exquisite.”_ He watched as swirls of magenta intertwined themselves with bursts of sapphire blue and subtle shades of indigo and violet.

Macy shed the rest of her clothes in the next seconds as Harry did the same, removing his undershirt and other lower undergarments.

“ _Shall we?”_ Macy coquettishly beckoned with an upturned _come hither_ forefinger as Harry mutely complied, thanking the gods that he found himself, once again, in thrall of this _utterly_ ravishing woman, about to dip his entire nude self in a cornucopia of color. _Please let this not be a dream,_ he quietly beseeched his subconscious, eyeing the psychedelic hues encircling his foot he had tenuously dipped into the surrounding water. _Or a dream-within-a-dream._ He’d had more than enough of those to last several lifetimes.

_7:30 pm Saturday, Bathroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

His head rested upon Macy’s as they grew acclimated to the water, absorbing the intoxicating scent of alcohol and fruit. _Was it possible to become secondhand tipsy this way?_ He pondered the unknowable answer to this thought-provoking question, until he gave a jolt, realizing Macy’s hand had wound itself down _below_ , her thumb encircling his cushioned head, the centered tip, as he gasped once, then _again,_ his hips jutting outward instinctively as he felt himself tugged, tentatively at first, then insistent, almost as if into an ethereal existence on an alternate plane, in which there was nothing—nothing at all—but _pure, unadulterated pleasure…fuck all, that felt good…_

 _If she continued any further, he was sure to make a fool of himself, that much he knew._ He gathered his wits about him and placed his hand atop Macy’s tapered own. _Not now,_ he indicated as Macy’s lips pursed into a nevertheless alluring pout. “ _My turn,”_ he murmured low, as he found himself slipping a finger into her petaled folds, causing her head to spring upward, gasping, her right hand gripping the rimmed tub with a whitened fist as he added a second finger, and, once Macy nodded, _a third._ The strumming, tempoed movement of his digits caused her breathing to grow rapid, a moan escaping her lips.

Mere moments later, as the pear notes gave way to brandy and saccharine, he found her calling his name in a single cry that echoed throughout the walls of their ensconced chamber, as she reached her apex, pulsating around his fingers which he withdrew to taste—the essence of _her._

_7:38 pm Saturday, Bathroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

And now, taking deep breaths, she found herself rising slowly to straddle Harry, who remained seated. Her folds were aligned _just so_ with his hardness. She looked in askance toward him as he gave a barely imperceptible nod. _Yes._ Macy dipped her forefinger in the swirling blue soap suds, painting his forehead and kissing his cheekbones, one then the other. She wouldn’t make it _that_ easy for him.

“ _What’s the magic word?”_ Macy leaned over, whispering in Harry’s ear as he groaned aloud in frustration, the entry of her core encircling _him_ over and over, tantalizing but never _touching_ quite _there. Torturous, really, all things considered,_ Harry thought to himself _. Is this what I get for baking lamb with mint sauce for my beloved—_

“ _Please._ Please!” Harry all but bellowed as Macy smirked, planting a passionate kiss atop his lips, tongues orchestrally intertwined, as she finally allowed him to plunge into the very depths of her folds, causing them both to collectively gasp aloud, grasping for the other’s hair, tawny curls, chestnut locks alike, as the world around them became but a technicolor blur, as they found a second of stillness, of _fit_ , fast punctuated by Macy, who ground down upon him with renewed energy, causing Harry to groan as he thrust upwards, into the very depths of her core, as far as he himself could possibly go.

_7:45 pm Saturday, Bathroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Their passionate embraces, ardent, affirmative, vocal actions, soon led to their frenetic ascent as they escalated their movements, not caring who heard them shout, groan, or gasp. “ _Fuck,”_ breathed Harry in Macy’s ear. “I’m—” she regarded his eyes, knowing exactly where he was in that moment, where they _both_ were.

“ _Me too,”_ she moaned loudly, as their collective friction brought to bear. Instinctively she reached and bit his shoulder to stifle her scream as he reached his apex alongside her, growling as he tightened his hold on her hips, pouring his essence into the very depths of her soul.


	8. A Shiny Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macy makes Epicenter Pico her second home, a prequel to "On Lorenz Theory & Love" then "Of Ginger & Spice." She encounters Morgana and Matias at the market (though she doesn't realize it at the time).

8 A Shiny Thing

_5 am Seattle/Noon Azores, Next Saturday, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Macy walked to the furthest room on the right, the master bedroom with a sizeable bed—larger than the one she had back at Vera Manor. _Likely king-sized. Hopefully with sound-proof windows and damage-proof walls?_ The room was pale-colored with a gauzy alabaster-hued curtained window. Perhaps one day, not now, but once she fixed everything up, she would bring Harry over for a visit. _Or two. Or three…_

Cleaning a mysterious Azores Island newly inherited condo wasn’t what Macy envisioned herself doing at this part of her life. She never imagined for a single moment in her highly disciplined childhood, that there would come a time, suddenly and without notice, that Dexter would no longer walk upon this good green earth. That was the thing about strict parents. You groused about them while they were here, constantly harping on you to do your best—pushing you to your outermost limits—and when they left, there was a void. A silence, where there previously had been none, so quiet that one could imagine hearing a faint buzzing in one’s ears, to cover the emptiness they left in their wake.

She spent the better part of fifteen minutes digging her nails into the paper towels and solvent she had brought with her, dusting, disinfecting, though it was more for her own personal comfort level than anything else; the place really was quite pristine. Macy had left Vera Manor early that morning under the guise of a pre-dawn jog around the surrounding neighborhood boroughs, but brought a duffel bag full of berry-flavored seltzer water on the sly, placing the package in the empty fridge.

“I am an independent woman,” Macy spoke aloud, channeling Jane Eyre, her words lightly echoing off the sun-drenched walls of her new-to-her abode. Harry hadn’t said _“_ _I love you,”_ to her yet; she had invaded his thoughts almost without realizing, not so long ago. He had never once spoken those words aloud in her presence, to her alone.

 _We love you_ _._ She recalled his words spoken as she blew out her birthday candles, making a secret wish involving them two, and a lifetime of forevers.

_But was that enough? “We love you?”_

She sighed, watching a flock of seagulls pass her balcony window. Because it was her balcony now. This took some time getting used to. Forever an itinerant, it felt strange to put down roots—to have roots thrust down upon her, purely by familial happenstance. And what if Harry, being British and somewhat emotionally repressed (like her), never said those three words aloud? Could she live with that?

One thing was for certain, Macy knew that until he said those words—or came pretty damn close, she wasn’t going to let him in Epicenter Pico No. 23. Or tell him about it. She believed in having a plan, and a fallback. _This would be her fallback,_ _she decided to herself._ _In case anything happens at Vera Manor. In case I need to gather my thoughts. And leave, if even for a bit._

_6 am Seattle/1 pm Azores, Open-Air Marketplace, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

And just as suddenly, Macy found herself walking around a crowded marketplace near the Epicenter Pico condo she had departed, in search of fruit and vegetables, tropical or otherwise. She had followed the paper signs jutting from the lush, grassy ground around the neighborhood on what appeared to be taped-over popsicle sticks, indicating a possible means of succor.

Macy was the type of person who made a list, entered a shop, purchased her item, and left within minutes. Here, she knew, would be a different experience entirely. She braced herself as she approached a couple of stalls closely cloistered together, as if the architectural equivalent of hiding a secret. She spotted, a couple of feet away, an older redhaired woman in excellent health _(was she_ _seventy? Eighty?)_ shouting over someone’s head about the price of melagueta peppers.

From the adjoining fruit stand, Macy purchased a couple of soft, ripened faintly sweet-scented guavas, a couple of plump papayas, and hesitated, wondering how long she would find herself in the condo, before purchasing a bit of raw miniature vegetables for snacking. She passed an older man who looked to be the same age as the redhaired lady; they appeared to be a married couple, or bickering coworkers—it was hard to tell. She wouldn’t have noticed him nearly so much, except for his dark olive skin juxtaposed with the most striking grey eyes she had ever seen.

She did a double-take. The older man, fast disappearing into the chaotic throng, looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t recall ever meeting him before. The only person she knew with eyes that hue was Harry himself. She shook her head and continued. The man looked as if he were born in the 1940s, so unless there was a time loop or other conspiracy theory, it would be best to get her head out of the clouds and think of more important matters at hand. Like settling into her new property.

Making another step toward the plumeria bushes surrounding the neighborhood intersection, she sprang back as a group of small, suntanned children with tawny curls and dimples darted across her path, laughing, their hair flouncing airily in the tropical breeze. She watched as their mothers ambled closely behind, giving Macy apologetic looks, as she smiled in response. _Awwwww._ It was moments like these that jolted her out of her autopilot existence.

_If she and Harry had kids, they’d probably be adorable._

_If._

A very hypothetical and altogether highly _,_ _highly_ improbable _if._

_9 am, Monday, Metallurgy Laboratory, SafeSpace, Seattle, Washington_

_Just a bit more…_

Macy eyed the robotic 3-D printer as she cut a mold of what her near-photographic memory held of…Harry. Why SafeSpace’s hours weren’t more flexible, such as opening at 4 am or midnight was a mystery to her nocturnal self. Her visage was fixated on the printing press, watching its manifold cogs and intricate machinery elegantly converging in confluence, whirrs and clicks abounding, echoing throughout the chamber.

_A few inches to the left for the prominent vein…_

She tapped the tips of her toes against the concrete floor, hoping beyond hope she wouldn’t get caught by staffers for printing an unmentionable human body part in full naked glory. It was highly improbable it would ever be mistaken for anything else, the molding. What if she were caught? She could very well find herself banned from using the metallurgy room ever again. Maybe her sister would have her privileges revoked too, if SafeSpace were particularly punitive. But Macy had the feeling that for once in her life, it was time to take a risk. _A particularly seductive one, at that._

Macy bit her lip subconsciously as she surveyed the heady progress made so far. _The base in all its smooth form—_ _she pictured running her finger up its quivering, stiffening length, springing forth from the owner’s unzipped fly as she ran her forefinger to the cushioned, tapered tip, swirling her digit amidst the silvery, viscous droplets as would a painter’s brush, spreading the essence in a myriad of eternity symbols, curlicues, and randomized opalescent patterns from its origin, down a few millimeters to the resultant slope and indented curve, and down an inch more._

_She imagined taking her time, moving at a languorous pace, surrounded by the diaphanous bedsheets of a weekend morning as she continued her sumptuous movements, past a pulsating vein amidst a frustrated-but-tempestuous groan. ‘Patience,’ she’d say. ‘Du calme, mon amour,’ she would purr against the crux of his alabaster-hued neck as he shivered in thrall, captivated by the very sight and scent of her. If she felt in a particularly vixen-like mood, she imagined she would angle the rest of her fingers upon the sharply-closing distance between each gasp, wondering to what extent she would go—and what she would do—to have this part of him slammed—repeatedly—vigorously—within her own moist, wanting crevice—_

“Mace?” Macy gasped and whirled to her left, noticing a certain British gentleman calling her name while knocking at the transparent glass door. Oh God. His eyebrow cocked upward as if to ask, ' _Mace, whatcha doin’?_

Panicking, she reached for a piece of paper and marker, writing “TOP SECRET BIO PROJECT—DO NOT LOOK,” waving the placard in Harry’s general direction, obstructing his view of the 3-D printer using a sweater she had carried into the metallurgy room. Shoulders slumped, he gave a brief nod and turned around, proceeding downstairs to the café where Macy imagined he would order his usual cup of Earl Grey tea. Her job, meanwhile, was to finish printing this object and mail it to an open-minded online metal specialist who would create a metal showerhead of the 3-D mold, _no questions asked_.

Reluctantly, she watched him depart—his coiffed chestnut hair, his soft, warm eyes, the musculature she knew was hidden well beneath the silken maroon dress shirt and dark slacks he had taken to wearing as of late—knowing with a silent cry within her soul, all she had to do to get him back, for him to _faire un retour_ in that moment, was to call his name.

_Not yet._

_But soon._


	9. For Your Eyes Only

9 For Your Eyes Only

_9 am, Saturday Morning, Front Door and Alcove, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Macy peered outside the gauzy white curtains at the uniformed person dropping off an oblong package. That had to be it, she thought, especially at this early an hour. Sure enough, her phone gave a _ping_ with the photo of her ordered item. Glancing back toward the kitchen, she wasted no time in unlocking the front door and darting outside to retrieve her… _package_.

_9:01 am, Alcove, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Closing the door behind her, she made as to gently cradle the box in her left hand, stroking its top with her right—

“What’s _that?”_ Macy gave a start as she spotted Harry’s form leaning against the living room threshold a polite distance away.

“Nothing—” Macy regained her composure, uttering the barest of indelicate coughs. “No questions till I’m ready, remember?”

“ _Roger that.”_ Harry, to her relief, accepted her façade of a reply, returning once more to the brightly-lit kitchen, where he could be heard humming Gustav Holst’s “Jupiter” under his breath, the aroma of blueberry scones beckoning toward her in wafted tendrils of warmth that only freshly-baked British breakfast cuisine could achieve.

_Noon, Seattle/7 pm Azores, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Having managed to sneak off from Vera Manor ( _yes, Harry, another jog_ ), she portaled to Epicenter Pico No. 23 once more, landing squarely in the entryway next to the tiny wooden table. _Not bad._ Package in hand, she took a spare pair of shears and drew a slit along the length of the pliable cardboard box, revealing a cylindrical, slightly-ribbed-yet-smooth showerhead, with a capped, rounded tip, exactly as she imagined it would be. No _—better_ —she thought, running her fingers along the smooth, silver length of impenetrable hardness that would soon be situated over her nude form, fully visible each and every time she were to shower here, in the verdant tropical paradise she had found.

The 100% titanium state-of-the-art creation had a feminine-grip handle, perfect for those moments she wished to detach the fount head from its poised fixture. The girth measured approximately two inches total; the first three inches was the grip handle itself, and the next seven inches or so was undeniably, unmistakably _…him._

_12:30 pm, Seattle/7:30 pm Azores, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

After disposing of the outward packaging and screwing on the appendage to the mounted exterior clasp, replacing its tall-but-clumsy predecessor, Macy stood back to survey the results.

_Perfect._

She sighed half in ecstasy, her tongue licking the bottommost part of her lip as she bit down on it, imagining that showers here would become far more sensual and interesting than they had even been before. Macy glanced at her phone. _12:30 pm Seattle, 7:30 pm Azores._

_Should I?_

Her eyes sparkled as she glanced back up at the cylindrical object above her head. It was odd—strange, even—to have a specially-made detachable titanium showerhead in the shape of a lover’s phallus, but deep down, she knew herself to be a horny scientist at heart. Nobody would know to search for her here of all places; she left no indication of her whereabouts with Harry or her sisters, and nowhere in recent memory could she recall having written the word “Azores” anywhere within the confines of Vera Manor itself.

Beads of perspiration dotted her sun-kissed forehead and clung to the back of her breathable, nylon sports tank top, threatening to trickle down to the silken netting of her jersey shorts. If ever there was a chance to test out the showerhead…now would be the time. She glanced toward the open bathroom door that led directly to the master bedroom and by extension, the rest of the Azores condo. The place was entirely hers; she could (with the windows closed) walk around entirely nude but for her underwear, sipping on a cool glass of sparkling berry seltzer. She could lounge about the balcony (with more clothes on). She could… _the possibilities were endless._

_12:50 pm, Seattle/7:50 pm Azores, Living Room and Kitchen, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

And she did exactly that, once she closed the balcony blinds and ensured the bedroom curtains were fully shut. Returning to the kitchen, she removed a can of sparkling water from the fridge and popped its aluminum lid open. The cool, crisp beverage hit her tongue with a refreshing zing as she sipped slowly, savoring the taste of the sublime sweetness dancing about her tongue.

Much as she loved her sisters and Harry, it was bliss— _sheer bliss_ —having a place of her own, after all this time. True, growing up as an only child had meant undivided attention from a strict disciplinarian, but there were those pockets of time nowadays in which she craved a bit of solitude from her constantly-changing surroundings, as action-packed as they were during this period of time in her young adult life. Last year, she was a lonely woman, making her mark in the scientific world; now, she was redefining her identity as the geneticist occupation of hers had been unceremoniously stripped away, while also becoming more acquainted with her sisters. And _Harry_ , of course.

_Speaking of which…_

Almost as if she had lived in the space for years, as though she were fully acquainted with its texture, lineaments, form and function, she placed the remainder of her can back in the fridge and ambled toward the master bedroom, heel-toe, gathering the texture of the cool tile beneath her warm skin, saving this memory of pristine, untouched solitude in her mind palace for posterity, for future years in which she knew she would find herself surrounded by chaos of every kind.

_1 pm, Seattle/8 pm Azores, Master Bathroom, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

The shower enclosure, she observed, was of thick, seemingly impenetrable glass, made in an illusory way to appear thinner. But she knew better, having studied the chemical compound in the past week. Its titanium fixtures holding the panes together matched that of the phallic showerhead in all its shining glory. She stepped back to the bedroom door, closing and locking it, and did the same with the bathroom door. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she groaned just the slightest bit, realizing the tropical humidity had wreaked a certain level of havoc on her once-perfect curls. Now, they appeared but a haze, a shadow encircling her olive-hued visage. She imagined Harry caressing her from behind, murmuring in her ear.

 _Darling, you look like an angel,_ Macy imagined him saying, as her toes curled as they always did, more often now than they ever had before, given what she knew of him and what he was fully capable of, both inside and outside of the Vera Manor attic.

 _Do I?_ Her expressive eyes would tilt toward him, silently pleading for him to join her once more to resume their intimate expressions of ardor. Fingering the sleeve of her nylon tank top, her lids heavy with want, she imagined his fingers covering her own, lifting the fabric off of her body, speckled by now with perspiration akin to a constellation of stars orbiting in concert, colliding with bursts of flame and scintillating sparks in a cataclysmic moment of unadulterated passion.

Her silken jersey shorts would be the next item for removal; her breath hitched as she placed her thumbs on either side of their seams, gradually lowering the garb past the crux of _herself_ , as it dropped with a _swish_ onto the hard flooring. For a moment, she visualized Harry’s arms turning her around for a lascivious, stolen kiss…

Macy eventually shed her garments in their entirety as she made her way into the enclosure, closing the weighted glass door behind her. She stared upward at the titanium… _rod_ , its features gleaming, as she bit her lower lip, wondering what would happen if she were to find its owner encircling her folds. Macy turned the faucet dial on, creating a steaming atmosphere like none other as her neatly-trimmed nails traced the very outline of his imagined touch, cupping her chin upward for a tender moment, winding fingers past the nape of her neck.

She gasped at the thought of Harry sweeping away her tawny curls, planting a secret kiss upon her tendrils brushing upon her shoulder, and perhaps his, as steam continued to build in the titanium-glass box she had enclosed the whole of her steady, beating, and altogether fragile heart.

_1:10 pm, Seattle/8:10 pm Azores, Master Bathroom, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Her fingers recalled the barest of echoes of his heady touch as her forefinger and thumb tenuously encircled an orb, then its twin, their corresponding nubs, as she stifled a moan. _Counterclockwise then clockwise. Was it three times or five, before he would take one in his mouth, one of each perhaps, as her hips began to buck of their own accord?_ Rivulets of piping-hot water streamed forth from the powered showerhead above with a force second-to-none as she laced her forefinger further down, past her navel, and further still until she reached the source of her fast-building heat, plunging a finger into her folds, then _another_.

She imagined he would take his time with the whole of her body, and she with his, but in this very moment _—_ _was it the intoxicatingly tropical ambiance or a deeper, foundational magic?_ —she found herself hungry for more.

_1:12 pm, Seattle/8:12 pm Azores, Master Bathroom, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Macy’s dilated pupils eyed the object of her sensual affections, pun intended, as she continued her ascent, her forehead making contact with the glass of her walled confines, as she imagined him, taking her from behind.

 _Here?_ She would whisper questioningly at his sultry gaze. Not as her efficacious, pristine Whitelighter, but as a wild foregone creature, starving, aching for her very flesh. He would nod while whirling her around, his brawny hands planted firmly on the curves of her hips, as she would brace herself for impact, while they emitted a mutual gasp at the first hint of penetration.

_1:15 pm, Seattle/8:15 pm Azores, Master Bathroom, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

Her fingers moved faster within her, as she visualized his girth filling her, inch-by-inch, slowly at first, then with a quicker, ragged rhythm punctuated by an exclamation that caused her to moisten even more so than before—

_Oh fuck, Macy—_

She moaned as she imagined him breathlessly gasping the incantation over and over as he plunged himself into her repeatedly, speeding up as they hit their apex together—

She gasped loudly, feeling a familiar clench and throb _down_ _there_.

_Ecstacy._

_1:45 pm, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

She rounded the corner, careful to portal beneath a darkened, abandoned alley she had noticed earlier. Making her way to the planted confines of Vera Manor, her exterior surroundings vanished as the front porch and threshold made themselves known once more.

“Did you enjoy it?” Harry’s eyes glittered in the afternoon breeze as Macy gave a start.

“ _W-what_?” she stammered, watching him sip carefully from what had to be his third cup of tea that day.

“The run, Macy, the run—” he detected a sort _of—reticence?—_ about his beauteous young charge. “Did you like it?”

“ _Most...definitely_ ,” she breathed as she angled her way forward past his form leaning on the Vera Manor threshold, avoiding even a semblance of eye contact.


	10. Is This What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks he knows what Macy wants (he doesn't). Also, prequel to "Of Lorenz Theory & Love" (and sequel "Of Ginger & Spice).

10 Is This What You Want

_His eyes closed, his tome dropped to the attic floor, its pages sweeping outward protectively in a fan-like gesture as he drifted, falling headlong through a dizzying curlicued tunnel, bracing himself for impact, protecting his head as he had learned in the sordid wartime decades past, bending his knees just so to avoid shattering his bones, leaning a couple of inches backward to land, which he did so in a softened heap of earth._

_Where was he?_

_He dusted himself off and straightened his posture, nearly hitting the damp ceiling above him. It wasn’t ‘damp’ per se. Just…moist. Lush. Fertile. With soil such as that, he deduced that there must be quite a garden above ground, if only he could find a door. Feeling his way along the smoothened curves of the cavernous tunnel, he detected an infinitesimal hint of light up ahead. Resisting the urge to run headlong into the unknown, he took a deep breath and maintained his composure, pacing himself as he always had, full of quintessential British decorum._

_Oddly enough, the more he paced himself, the faster he appeared to reach the crease of light that illuminated his path through the darkness. The professor in him would have postulated, believing this a sensual allegory of Macy, and the unknown land she had found herself in. He had, up until now, assumed that the property she inherited was in the United States._

_But—his brow furrowed—_

_What if it were…elsewhere?_

_Just then, his foot made contact with what seemed, upon touching, to be a hardened exterior door. Pliable though, he thought to himself as he stroked its initially-unyielding doorknob, which had closed itself to outsiders for decades, which explained its early stubbornness—its inability to open itself—through no fault of its own. Surprisingly, after a capricious burst of flame followed by the sounds of chirps and creaks, the door burst open, as he stepped forth into the bright, beckoning sunlight of a tropical midsummer afternoon._

_It was Vera Manor Garden._

_It was, and it wasn’t._

_He recognized the trellis, the flower bushes, the inveigling ivy, the patio furniture. His philosophy courses of yore floated back to his memory, those “if/then, but/so” conditional hypothesis statements of concrete logic. But the scenery before him was anything but logical. Circling the garden in tall, swaying bloom before him, he found creamy white plumerias dotted with buttery-yellow centers, magenta hibiscus with their prominent stamens, green-and-flamingo pink guava trees, golden mango trees, and what appeared to be the auspicious beginnings of a pineapple plant, fast-ripening in the verdant breeze._

_He shut his eyes and blinked again as he saw a familiar curly-haired figure in an ivory floral-printed dress. The same dress and its occupant he had faced some time ago, the very one who had reached out in mere seconds of a turn and had read his mind near a grassy knoll in Hilltowne, Michigan. Her back facing him, he heard her say, without turning around—_

_“Is it really you?”_

_His throat hoarse as if coated in sandpaper, inexplicably nervous as he was, he gave a desultory cough before replying. “Yes, love. It’s me. It’s always been.” He approached her personal space, encircling her from behind when she did not object, and uttered the subtlest of gasps._

_Her lower abdomen protruded beneath his fingers, swollen with the promise of life as he felt a butterfly flutter of movement within._

_“Are you--?” He crept forward to face her, lifting her visage to gaze upon his own._

_Then blackness._

_“Is this what you want?”_

_“Is this what you want?”_

_He heard a voice echo in the innermost chambers of his subconscious, repeating the question once, twice, then a third—_

“HARRY!”

_3 pm, Saturday Afternoon, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_“W-what?”_ Harry jumped up from the living room sofa, startled back into the present from his afternoon nap, facing a certain lovely, intelligent woman with a deep sun-kissed glow and a mischievous twinkle of the eye.

_Macy._

“Is this what you want? I mean,” she lowered her voice to avoid her sisters overhearing. “Midnight? Tonight? Simulation crystal?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Most definitely.”

“Is everything ok, Harry? You look like you’ve…seen things,” remarked Macy slowly, angling to have a better view of him, tousled hair, plaid pajama set, and all.

“Perhaps,” he stated, orbing away with the flick of a wrist before she could get a word in edgewise.

Macy sighed. _If only he would let me in._

_Midnight, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Wearing a spaghetti-strap damask peignoir dress, she darted up each creaking, wooden stair toward the attic door, which she found unlocked. Entering, she spotted the simulation crystal atop the bed, now glowing with tawdry hints of crimson and black. Why he felt the need to overcompensate—if that’s what this was—she never understood. Rolling her eyes, lips pursed, she drew a forefinger to the orb and vanished instantly into the inner turmoil of Harry.

_12:01 am, Simulation Crystal, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“You’re late,” a voice purred darkly as she found herself chained to a prison wall, its sides painted a flashing crimson, in contrast to the black leather gear she spotted on the hooks nearest her. Several types of whips, two sets of handcuffs, and several other items that went into unmentionable places…and Good Lord were those butt plugs? She gave an involuntary shiver. This was too much.

“Only by a minute,” she whined as he drew a hide strap that touched the most sensitive part of her neck, causing her to gasp aloud. The piece made its way down the creviced fold of her shoulder blade, its tassel swirling a second later down every inch of her spinal column until it reached her very base. He raised his wrist, and in a swift movement, brought the tassel to her sumptuous behind with a sharp crack as she winced, biting her lip to keep from screaming, drawing the faintest bit of blood.

Another crack, another, and one more for good measure—

She had been up three nights in a row trying to figure out the chemistry behind power regeneration and she was exhausted, her limbs aching, her lids threatening to close amidst all of Harry’s attention-seeking activities. A tear splashed down her melanin cheek as she sniffed, instantly attracting Harry’s attention.

“Isn’t this…” he swallowed. “Isn’t this what you want?”

Macy, who would have acquiesced a week ago—and possibly a month ago still—was too tired for charades. She paused then shook her head vehemently. “No,” she whispered as another tear spilled forth. “This isn’t what I want.”

_12:05 am, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Instantly, the chains, dungeon, whips, and handcuffs vanished as the pair found themselves on the attic bed once more, Harry sitting with impeccable posture, as Macy’s head lay in his lap. Stroking her wild, flowing curls tenderly, he bent over to kiss the tips of her fingers, her elbow, shoulder, forehead, and finally her lips. _Even when she cried, she was beautiful._

“Tell me, love, what do you want?” he murmured in her ear. For several moments, all was silent—perhaps Macy had drifted off to an unwavering slumber due to what he should have realized was 72 hours’ worth of collective exhaustion. _How could I have been so remiss?_ Harry quietly remonstrated himself before he heard a faint voice answer.

“You,” she uttered, barely above a whisper.

“Me?” Harry asked quizzically. “What about me? I thought you’d want the Darklighter—for me to build upon what drew you to him in the very beginning—”

Macy shook her head. “No, Harry.” She used the palms of her hands to push herself into a seated position next to him. “Back when all…of that…happened, the coming of your Darklighter to me in the late evenings, as he stroked my chin with his touch…I realize now that…I was just…lonely. Lonely and hungry.”

Harry made as if to speak, but she cut him off. “Please, Harry, just, let me get this out, ok?” He nodded once, faintly, as she continued. “I’m not interested in the Darklighter, Harry. I want you—you and your,” she laughed, her curls floating, “tea and cardigans, your relentless loyalty. I love that little wrinkle in your forehead when you’re thinking really hard. I love the way your mouth crinkles and unfurls when you look at me, like you have the world at your very fingertips. I love that you are an enigma, an intellectual puzzle of the most complex and beautiful kind. I love everything about you that the Darklighter is not.” She reached out to stroke Harry’s locks of chestnut hair as he closed his eyes and savored her touch upon his skin.

“But most of all, Harry,” she paused as he opened his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, drawing her closer for a kiss, his lips meeting hers in the quiet stillness of the late evening hours, where everything was dormant, resting, burgeoning, growing, and preparing for the dawn of yet another day.

_12:10 am, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Macy suddenly broke away from the kiss as Harry looked on questioningly. Did I overstep? he wondered to himself. “You asked me what I want,” she angled her head as an idea struck her.

“Yes, I did,” Harry responded, his body language in tandem with hers, trying to figure out exactly where this conversation was headed.

“It’s not BDSM—” she started.

“Oh thank God,” Harry breathed as Macy giggled. He recalled a particularly searing memory in which, while investigating, he barged into a motel room whose inhabitants were using a riding crop, but definitely were not equestrians. The rest of that week, all the baking and baths in the world couldn’t remove what had burned into his retinas that evening.

Macy reached forward and whispered a few words in his ear. “Oh, really?” Harry exclaimed. “They have a third season? Splendid!” She nodded and uttered a few more syllables. “And you want to—oh.” Harry’s eyebrows raised a notch as Macy fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly. “Oh _my_ , Dr. Vaughn. Very well. _If you insist_.”

_12:45 am, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

The two found themselves curled up and spooning on the attic sofa, watching the third season of “Heaven’s Vice.” The man playing Gideon had gone on sabbatical in Nicaragua, which the producers wrote into the show, claiming Gideon had fallen into the country’s Momotombo Volcano, a fiery pit of despair, “surrounded by the deafening screams of human torment.” Somehow, that phrase seemed vaguely familiar. Where had they heard that before? Harry shook his head and kept watching. It was best not to read too deeply into things, especially those of the entertainment sort. _Sometimes a horse was just a horse._

With Gideon gone, the love triangle vanished as Levi and Angelica had all the trappings of a perfectly happy, drama-free relationship. They traveled together, had long walks in the park, went to the beach, solved supernatural mysteries together. Things progressed naturally in their relationship; the two kissed more often than not, hugged even more. Levi could be spotted lingering near a jewelry shop, choosing something befitting his significant other, at the precise moment a rather pale, shell-shocked Angelica walked out of their shared bathroom, _positive pregnancy test in hand_.

Pressing the pause button on her laptop, Macy glanced over at Harry. “I hope this isn’t awkward or anything—” she began, but he placed a hand atop hers as she grew silent once more.

“Hardly.” Harry smiled and softly nuzzled her neck. “In fact, it reminds me of…”

“Of?” Macy couldn’t stand the suspense. “Harry, what aren’t you telling me?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Oh, really? Macy raised an arched eyebrow in response. “There’s something you’re not telling me, and I’m not pressing play until you come clean.”

Harry groaned. He really wanted to see Levi propose to Angelica, have her reveal her pregnancy in a romantically cute way, and for them to marry, have a child, and live happily ever after, which likely wouldn’t happen until next season, given their luck fighting evil. _Why must you leave me in torturous suspense, woman?_

_1 am, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_“_ Mace,” he answered cautiously, hoping not to scare his beloved away. “What are your thoughts on kids?”

“What about kids?” Macy tilted her head in the way she often did when deciphering ancient Sumerian texts.

“I mean, do you want kids someday? Of your own, I mean?” Harry posited, his eyes scrutinizing her own, as if searching for a hint of her innermost feelings, navigating his way through her private sentiments.

Macy gathered her thoughts over the next minute or so before replying. “Yes,” she stated aloud. “Yes, I do want kids. Someday. Not, like, tomorrow, but…I can’t imagine a future world without kids of my own.” Harry nodded, giving serious thought to her answer. “What about you, Harry?”

“I’d never thought about the question—” Macy’s heart fell into her stomach, her eyes growing wide, but Harry hastily clarified. “I didn’t, until I met you. And I think—maybe not now, but someday—I’d love for you to be their mother.”

“Oh, Harry—” Macy’s voice shook. She couldn’t, in all her years of dating (limited as they were) think of a time any man wanted her to be the mother of his children. Her laser-eyed focus on work and other earthly ambitions intimidated people to no end and she used to wonder, back in her Columbia years, whether she was destined to be that seventy-year-old woman with a hundred cats (not that there was anything wrong with that, given amble acreage, assuming said felines were well-tended to). “I’d love for my kids to have you as their father,” she said, as he kissed her forehead, nose, and lips, then surreptitiously pressed the play button to complete the “Heaven’s Vice” episode.

_1:15 am, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

The episode ended soon enough, with Levi abducted by a nefarious being while Angelica waited for him outside the jewelry store. “He has no idea he’s going to be a father,” Harry’s voice shook.

Macy glanced over at him. “Harry…are you crying?” He swept the lone tear off his lower eyelid and collected himself.

“Just ardent emotion in the moment, love,” responded Harry. “That’s all.”

“Right,” Macy spoke aloud. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? You seem to be looking at me like I grew two heads. And you seem to be staring at my midsection. Oh God, have I been eating too much ice cream again? Is that it—”

Harry chuckled. “No Mace, you’re perfect just as you are.” He lifted his eyes toward her. “Promise you won’t laugh?” Macy nodded. “I…” he was unsure of how, or where, to start. “I had an afternoon nap—”

“I know…”

“Alright, well, during the nap, I had a dream. Of Vera Manor Garden. Except— _tropical_.”

Macy had a sharp intake of breath. _How was that possible? There was no way he would know…_ “Right,” she breathed. “So, uh, what happened in this tropical garden?”

“I saw you wearing your lovely ivory floral gown, the one from earlier—” Macy nodded, knowing exactly which one he referred to. “You were facing the flowers, I spotted your back, I walked toward you, and hugged you from behind.”

“And then what happened?” Macy was breathless with anticipation.

Harry shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Really?” Macy gave him a suspicious side-eye. “Your acting weird’s telling me there’s more to this story.”

He hesitated for a couple more minutes. “Mace, I dreamt I hugged you from behind and that you were pregnant. Heavily pregnant, might I add—”

 _“Oh?”_ That was unexpected, thought Macy. Or was it? They had a slow-burning friendship-turned-romance and were of the age people typically married and bore children. Such dreams weren’t unheard of, right?

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have told you—” Harry stammered, as he made to stand, but Macy reached out, her hand clasping his at the very last minute.

“Don’t apologize for your feelings,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck once more. “And besides—” as she found herself straddling him, “I’d enjoy making them, someday.” Harry's hand grasped her curls in response, his other hand firmly on her hip, while she grinded herself further onto his fast-growing hardness.

“As would I,” gasped Harry, bunching the folds of her gown upward as she lifted the outfit above her bosom, her shoulders, and her curls, tossing the garment clear across the room. She made heady progress, removing Harry’s cotton shirt and as he, still seated, lifted and shuffled his legs to free himself of his forest green plaid pajama bottoms, which he neatly folded and placed on the table in front of them (really, Harry?). Finally, she removed his silky hardness from the fabric of his boxers and, staring straight at him as he nodded, his eyes smoldering, she placed him at her entrance.

With a collective gasp emitted by both, he plunged inward, thrusting deeply as her legs curled tightly around his back in a vice grip. Luckily for them, magical birth control potions had been invented decades—or was it centuries?—earlier, and Macy had never missed a single dose.

_1:28 am, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

It began with the paperclips, their coiled silver metal vibrating of their own accord, leaping in place as if in a silent dance, the cacophony of which only grew with the quivering of ancient proto-Sumerian texts and the sharp staccato of half-empty potion bottles rattling on the sturdy wooden table several meters away. The chandeliers swayed and shook akin to the trembling bodies below, whose movements triggered the influx and circulation of magical energy that now permeated the highest chamber of Vera Manor.

Moments later, with a final thrust that triggered a flash of blindingly white light, the pair collapsed atop the sofa, their limbs entangled in the other.

“Wow,” breathed Harry shakily.

“What…what _was_ that?” Macy wondered aloud, as she turned to face the carnage their intimate relations had caused. Paperclips embedded in the corners of the octagonal window, proto-Sumerian texts strewn about the floor, and several other books scattered along the entryway.

_1:15 pm, Seattle/8:15 pm Azores, Next Afternoon, Balcony, Epicenter Pico No.23, Madalena Village, Azores Islands_

She sighed in ecstasy as she sank into the condo’s balcony hot tub, meant to soothe her sore and aching limbs from the evening activities the night before. Mel and Harry were busy guarding the Command Center, and Maggie demanded use of the Vera Manor upstairs bathroom for a pumpkin spice-scented aromatherapy bath bomb she had been meaning to try. Knowing full well she herself had a master bathroom and a hot tub at her disposal now, Macy acquiesced and slipped away at the first chance she had.

Sipping from her can of berry-flavored sparkling water, she opened her phone to the most recent AO3 “Heaven’s Vice” fanfiction, rated M for mature and began reading to her heart’s delight. Mid-way through the page, she noticed the anonymous author had incorporated the beginnings of Season 3, Levi and Angelica’s jewelry episode, and the start of her pregnancy.

_What if Harry were here?_

_And what if, someday…not now, but someday…_

_What if he were the future father of her children?_

_And they raised their children here?_


	11. A Spot of Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry-turned-Jimmy tries to uncover what Macy meant by "team," and attempts to figure out who the strange people are in the photos. Based on S2E19.

11 A Spot of Paint

_His eyes closed, his head dropping to the floor in despair, as he attempted to penetrate the mysterious invisible barricade that stood between himself and the attic door. Bending his knees just so to avoid shattering his bones, he came at the unseen obstruction, bouncing off and landing a couple of inches backward in a heap._

_Where was he?_

_He dusted himself off and straightened his posture._

_The barrier showed no signs of yielding._

_Afternoon, Two Weeks Later, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Macy slapped viscous teal-blue onto his forehead and groaned aloud. Her constantly-evolving mental rolodex of worst-case scenarios hadn’t included this.

_Harry. Or Jimmy. Or whoever he was._

“My name’s Jimmy!” she’d heard him bellow earlier in the day as she mixed the unappetizing concoction together, her back turned away from him as she bit her lip, trying to ward off her own feelings of despair, panic…and regret. Regret for all of those missed chances they could have had as a couple, fully acknowledged to the world—Hilltowne, Seattle, even the Azores—instead of hiding in a simulation orb, her coat closet, or the dusty attic they currently found themselves in. _Harry deserved better than this._ She knew that much was certain.

All things considered, now was definitely not the time to tell Harry about her Azores condo, though she made a point of writing “Azores” in her journal as a silent reminder. Macy noted the irony of the situation; the last time she dabbed blue on Harry’s face was when they shared a hot bath with her new pear brandy sapphire-hued bath bomb.

She placed the finishing touches of the glob-like ointment on Harry’s upper brow, giving silent thanks to the powers above that he hadn’t fled the room the moment she freed him. Of course, barricading the entryway with heavy boxes helped her cause; she noted the faint hint of impressed admiration behind the fear in Harry-turned-Jimmy’s eyes as she demonstrated her telekinesis.

Macy waited several seconds for Harry’s memories to dislodge and return. “Do you feel different?” she made as if to ask—before suddenly being knocked backward, her own blue-tipped hand touching her forehead.

_Afternoon, Macy’s Subconscious, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After a bout of darkness, Macy found herself tucked away, offset in a throng of excited college-aged youth watching a melanin-hued woman singing onstage at a karaoke event. She admired the slow cinematography style of the woman’s whirling box braids, the wild abandon of her soul as she sang her heart out to any and all who would listen.

Macy wished she were as brave. She never sang in public and had never recalled in recent memory wearing anything resembling box braids. It was curls or a variation of ponytail (plus glossy hair extensions if she felt particularly fancy that day). _And Ceelo? What a brave choice,_ she remarked to herself, continuing to gaze at this spirited lady once more. She stared a bit harder, transfixed by her movements onstage, knowing they called out to her subconscious memory somehow…Macy was struck by just how free and joyful this woman seemed. _I wish I were like her_ _._

 _Oh wait—_ Macy gave a start.

_That’s me._

_Afternoon, Staircase and Front Alcove, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

His feet speedily pattered down the staircase of the expansive mansion he found himself in. _I can’t do this,_ he thought to himself as he recalled the woman upstairs who looked as though she had suffered a concussion. His wartime days were long over, and his resultant trauma had left too many invisible scars for him to be of any service to her. Or so he believed. He thumbed through the wallet he had retrieved upstairs, hoping he could salvage what was left of his life and start anew. _How far away was Blackpool from here?_ Even now, he wished to visit the seaside resort he had heard so much about as a youth in Manchester, located on the Lancashire coast of Northwest England. He’d heard so many enchanting stories about its Tower Ballroom, where dancers twirled to the music of a Wurlitzer organ. _Was it still there, even after the war? Only one way to find out—_

A photo fell out of the wallet and onto the wood floor of the alcove. Puzzled, Harry picked it up with his thumb and forefinger. _What the blazes?_ It was, he recognized, the mysterious, beguiling woman he’d left upstairs, flowing curls and all, nuzzled on the crook of his own neck in what appeared to be a more intimate pose than initially met the eyes. Their posture and overall body language were in near-perfect complementary semblance. _Team, my arse,_ he told himself. Clearly they were something far more than that.

 _Or,_ he posited to himself as he continued to study the photo, _was ‘team’ code for something else entirely? A euphemism for…intimate involvement, judging by the way her sweet-tempered visage curved cozily onto his-but-not-his own burgundy-clad shoulder?_ _Once upon a time, had her graceful fingers intermingled with his work-worn own, then trailed up to his wrist as his eyes grew large and altogether smoldering, imagining where they would venture next?_

 _Had her tapered melanin limbs balanced against the crux of his elbow, his biceps encircling her curvaceous frame in a passionate rhythm, his bare shoulder blessed by the warmth of her dark, cinnamon-scented curls? Had the pad of her forefinger encircled the most sensitive part of his neck, pulling him closer in a sensual embrace, as he plunged himself deeper within her warmth, and_ _deeper_ _still?_

Harry scrutinized the photo for additional clues as to the exact nature of their relationship. He noticed her elegantly manicured nails winding around a mustard-colored ceramic cup, and what appeared to be an onyx signet ring on her right pinky finger. _Was that where wedding rings were placed in this alternate dimension?_

At the base of the staircase, another photo, framed this time, caught his eye. Him and this woman… _Macy_ _…_ with two younger teenagers. _Or were they older…women?_ One had a somber or surly—it was hard to tell—expression, indicating she had seen enough of life to be cynical, but not so much that her heart had succumbed entirely. The other female was petite with doe-like eyes and despite her not having curly hair, something in her inscrutable expression indicated a direct resemblance to Macy.

 _There was_ _more_ _to this family—this_ _team?_ His brow furrowed, he did a bit of mental math. Was it possible that he and Macy met and married absurdly young in this alternate universe, and had children so very soon after? And was it possible after _that_ , that he had stayed and been a responsible and loving father? He could easily picture the former, as it wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility given his wayward leanings and odd proclivities of wandering the streets of Manchester at strange hours of the evening. The latter however, was highly suspect, given his lack of a father figure of his own, and what he understood of his own ne’er-do-well self, according to those who saw him at the local pubs.

He realized though, that the girls were older after further study of the picture. Besides, he knew deep down, that if he had indeed married someone as talented and as stunning as she, he would have bought her a proper engagement ring and they would’ve had enough… _intimacy_ …such that there would have been more than two children in that photo of theirs. _Maybe three?_ He smiled to himself. With her curls and gentle nature coupled with her intellectual resolve, he knew their progeny would’ve been perfection itself.

_And in that very moment, he understood what he had to do._


	12. Under the Trellis

12 Under the Trellis

_Late Evening, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

He swirled his wineglass, lost in his thoughts beneath the glowing tealights, as he heard the glass patio door open, a familiar figure gliding through. The corners of his lips twitched in amusement as he noticed her swaying to and fro, as if guided by an invisible breeze, a zephyr understood only by her. “What are you doing?” Harry called out.

“Dancing,” Macy replied, her hand encircling the door handle as she gazed at him, her past, her present, and perhaps, one day, her lifelong future. He had been there from the very beginning, stuffy cummerbunds and all, when she was but a scared college student a decade earlier. _And she knew he had cared for her even then._

“That spell pulled you back with quite a bit of force earlier,” Harry examined his glass, ambling lion-like under the trellis, parallel to her own free-forming movements. “You might have a concussion?” He studied his charge carefully. He noticed a change in her—her shoulders were relaxed, and she moved with a curious sense of…ease. _Ease and light-heartedness._ Pure embodiment of the happiness that he had always wished for his oldest charge. _Was her transformation true?_

He had to be sure, as always, that whatever she did was of her own volition, and that she was in the right frame of mind, harboring no regrets whatsoever of whatever would occur this very night, emotional intimacy or otherwise. The knowledge he had been Jimmy for a day burned at his core, and though it was no fault of his own, he harbored guilt that his amnesia caused his charge to have a seizure while unconscious.

Deep down, his heart never once wavered, as he reflected upon his own private personal thoughts after yet another sip of wine. Was it the consumption of fermented grapes that loosened his tongue just enough to rid himself of his straightlaced nature? Or something more? _Choose me, Macy. Please. I can’t lose you—_ he took another sip for good measure, hoping Macy wouldn’t notice his shaking palms.

“No, Harry,” Macy pointedly stated, her feet traversing the stone stairs until her gaze was level with his. “What I have is…clarity.”

 _Clarity? Interesting_ …Harry had half-expected Macy to tell him she couldn’t be around him anymore because of her injury, or other excuse her own fears embedded into her subconscious. Or, perhaps she would secret him within her closet, or they would end up in the dusty attic, or one of a myriad of clandestine, hidden locations. _This was certainly a new development._

“I don’t want to overthink this anymore. Or temper my feelings, or keep waiting for the right moment,” her voice wavered ever-so-slightly, choosing her phrases with care to avoid their meaning becoming lost in translation.

The words were music to Harry’s ears.

“So what _do_ you want?” Harry tilted his head, hoping beyond hope that for once, Macy would let him in—let herself be vulnerable—so he could do the protecting for the both of them.

For the briefest of seconds, Macy glanced at the slate-colored stone beneath her feet and back at him, more than once. “To get your ass over here and dance with me?”

Harry’s enigmatic expression deepened into an unmistakable smile. Not a full grin, for the sake of decorum, but—a look. _Just a look. To show it’s me._

 _Please?_ Macy silently pleaded.

 _I’m sorry, Harry,_ she thought to herself, hoping that Harry would give her another chance. _I’m so sorry for locking myself away—for being terrified to face my own truth—our truth—that no matter how hard I try to hide it—we are meant for each other—forever. I never told you about the Azores because I wanted an escape route in case things went south. But I know with you, that will never happen. Because you’ve always proven to me, time and time again, that you are my one-and-only Whitelighter—the most faithful and loyal of them all—and the truest of true love itself._

 _I’m ready._ Her feet firmly planted, she waited for the fates to descend upon her and carry out their will.

As if in slow motion, Harry placed his wineglass atop the patio table and walked toward her at a deliberate pace as they encircled one another, closing the lingering distance between them.

 _Are you sure?_ He silently inquired, as Macy gave a barely perceptible nod, the palm of her right hand outstretched, waiting in askance for his own, which he gently proffered of his own accord, intertwining his fingers in hers. Her eyelashes fluttered as she glanced from their held hands to her left, which she curved around his shoulder blades as though she had done this for years. His other hand found its way to her lower back, equal parts protective and sensual, as Macy draped her right hand around his shoulder, inhaling the musky scent of his cologne as she nuzzled herself against his neck.

She blinked hard, her visage peering outward and above toward the sparkling tealights above. When she was little, she used to imagine such lights were emitted by fairies in make-believe stories. Or, perhaps that they were balls of light, holding precious galaxies of their own. _Worlds within worlds._

How long had she fled? Been in denial? Then realized that he was her one complementary soulmate, as she found herself dropping all pretense, proclaiming her feelings to his memory-addled self? How much angst and pain had she endured, waiting for this perfect moment—and finally, waiting no longer?

_She was tired of fighting her feelings._

_It was time to come home._

_And home meant Harry._

The universe’s hold drew them nearer under the ivy-bound trellis, closing the stray distance as they kissed to signify a timeless, everlasting bond, an emergent promise of a post-Manichaean microcosm of intimacy, tenderness, and passion.

On a whim ( _was it the alcohol?_ ) Harry swung Macy around, her curls whirling through the summer night’s air as she giggled, clasping his shoulders to steady herself.

_11:10 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

“Let’s play a game—” Macy began, as the Arlissa song came to a close. She beckoned Harry to the patio table where the rest of his drink was waiting.

“What sort of game?” Harry asked curiously, trying with all his might to banish the idea of strip poker from his mind, having read a certain amount of AO3 Hacy fanfiction the evening before. _Shackleford’s, to be exact._

 _Don’t muck this up,_ he told himself crossly as he sought to maintain a modicum of self-control before the woman he loved beyond words.

“Eleven-eleven,” replied Macy. “There’s a superstition that 11:11 is good luck for wishes coming true. And for questions to be asked and answered. I ask you eleven questions, you ask me eleven questions. Got it so far?” Harry nodded as she continued. “If you can’t or won’t answer the question, you have to take a sip of wine—” she pointed at the glass. “If you answer correctly, the question asker takes a sip.”

“Roger that,” Harry murmured. _Was this an American game?_ He mentally braced himself, wondering what on earth he was in for.

_11:11 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

“Do you remember the first time you met me?” Macy gazed closely at Harry, wondering how he would respond.

_This seemed almost too easy, right?_

“If I remember correctly, Dr. Vaughn, I tied you to a chair and you attempted to throw a globe at my head. A _failed_ attempt,” he smirked.

“Drink.” Macy shoved the glass toward him as a perplexed expression lined his face.

“But—” Harry stammered, “Didn’t I answer the—”

 _“Drink.”_ Macy raised an eyebrow and rather than argue, Harry took a long sip, partly to soothe his nerves. _Had they met before, and he hadn’t remembered?_

“Love, if I met you even earlier than that, I would never have forgotten—”

“I know.” Her hand covered his as her expression softened. _Damn Elders and their memory spells._

“Next question?” Harry asked after a beat.

“Where do you see us travelling someday?” Macy asked, pulling her mental list of questions from the Hygge deck of icebreaker cards Maggie had given to her as a Christmas present some time before. _It was as if her youngest sister knew something like this would happen…_

Without so much as a pause, Harry replied. “Somewhere verdant and lush, with a tropical garden, palm trees, fronds, guava and mangoes aplenty. Perhaps even raise our future children there.”

“Good answer,” Macy bit her lip and hid a smile as she reached to take a sip.

_11:30 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Macy’s round of questions—or interrogation—whichever it was, Harry wasn’t quite sure, it was his turn to interview Macy.

“Question one,” Harry began. “Is your family condo in…” he paused, “the Bahamas, Barbados, Cancun, Jamaica, or Singapore?”

Macy laughed as she pondered Harry’s choice of tropical locales. She would’ve told him outright that it was in the Azores, but for the sake of propriety, she decided to be coy. Rather than answer, she gave him what appeared to be the middle finger (in jest) while taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage.

_And so the questions continued._

_Ten Minutes to Midnight, Vera Manor Garden to Kitchen, Seattle, Washington_

Macy shivered as an unseasonable chill passed through the surrounding garden. Harry hugged her closer from where they were seated at the patio table, having shared the glass of wine between them until the very last drop had been consumed. Droplets of the substance had landed upon Macy’s lips, which Harry alternately licked and kissed away, much to her delight.

“Perhaps we should call it an evening?” he asked, picking up the glass and making as though to bring it to the kitchen; Macy clasped his hand, silently following him through the glass patio doors. He placed the stemware in the sink basin, filling it with tap water to ensure there wouldn’t be a sticky, stubborn residue left upon its surface the next morning.

 _He’s always so conscientious,_ mused Macy to herself as she watched him carry out his pre-cleaning methodology, enjoying the unobstructed view of his pectoral musculature—

As if he could tell she was staring, he lifted his dark, now-glittering eyes toward her. “A penny for your thoughts, love.”

Macy blushed and bit her lip, shaking her head, her curls flowing this way and that. “I forgot how attractive you are in the kitchen,” she blurted out. _Blame the alcohol,_ she thought to herself, wishing she could take back her words and simply enjoy the moment for what it was, instead of subjecting her Whitelighter to her unending stream-of-consciousness, à la Virginia Woolf.

“Need I remind you?” he purred, and in an instant his form was flush against her own, her back against the kitchen counter as he smoothed a stray tendril from her visage, contemplating whether to tuck it neatly behind her ear—before licking the strand with his unfurled tongue, placing it in his mouth entirely—as Macy uttered the slightest of moans, causing him to harden in that instant.

One white-knuckled hand grasping the kitchen counter, the other in Harry’s hair, she found herself kissing—no, _making out with—her Whitelighter,_ in full view of the entire manor—and any inhabitant that could possibly happen to walk by. Just as he began involuntarily thrusting his pelvis, his hardness against her thigh—oh _my_!—her mildly-buzzed mental state sharped to an eagle’s attention, and she found she could progress no further in their physicality until she managed to clear the air.

“I don’t want you—” she gasped as Harry felt his heart plunge into what felt like a bucket of ice water.

_“Mace?”_

“No, I mean I do—just—” Harry nodded, understanding that Macy was trying to come to terms with the new reality of having had her once-hidden memories dislodged. “I don’t want you in a dusty attic, confined to a tiny simulation crystal, in a dank coat closet, or invisible under my sheets. I want you—” her eyes boldly met his, “in my bedroom,” her fingers traveled up the length of his arm, past his elbow and up his bicep as he sucked in his breath, looping around his shoulder in a series of infinity symbols and resting upon the linearity of his lips as he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, “exactly as you are.”

“As you wish, love,” Harry murmured into Macy’s curls while she clung onto him, as they orbed upstairs.

_Midnight, Outside to Inside Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

For once, the corridor was dark and unnaturally quiet. If they were in Hilltowne, Macy would’ve assumed Maggie was at Kappa House and that Mel was away at Niko’s. “Why’s it so—” she started to speak, but Harry pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.

“Less words, more action,” he murmured, as their lips collided again in a fury. Macy tumbled against the corridor wall, back sliding toward the firmness of her bedroom door, her hand swinging and missing, then reaching at the last possible second for her doorknob which swung open, causing the pair to nearly fall to the floor. She managed to close the door behind her as they hungrily grasped at each other, biting, nibbling each other’s necks, going far beyond the chaste-and-chivalrous nuzzling on the dance floor of Vera Manor Garden just an hour before.

Hints of jasmine and cinnamon wafted from Macy’s sumptuous curls as Harry buried his head within them once more, in the next minute picking her up so she was straddling him, pulling her toward the edge of the bed, where they tumbled in a heap.

_A look passed between them._

_Seductive._

_And sultry._

Without so much as a word, they began to shake off their various items of clothing, hindrances as though they were.

Macy’s sweater flew clear across the room as did her spring green camisole. Harry’s pants were off already, but he was occupied with unbuttoning his silk shirt. _Blasted buttons._

“Allow me,” Macy’s hands covered his own as he made to cease and desist. As her eyes swept from the top of the set to the very bottom, each button neatly exited its corresponding hole.

 _“Impressive,”_ Harry growled, slapping her curvaceous behind before laying her flat on her back at the end of the bed, removing Macy’s lacy underwear with his teeth.

“The underwear or the hole?” she asked, with a coquettish twist of her mouth. _Oh sweet divinity, woman,_ Harry groaned as he spread her thighs as wide as they would go.

 _“Both.”_ His tongue began his ministrations as she gasped headlong at his dedicated efforts toward bringing her the maximum amount of pleasure possible, magical or otherwise. He remembered an earlier adventure the two had had, and knew to make figure eights, or infinity symbols upon her hot and wanting seam, followed by agonizingly-slow outlines of her full name, including professional title, in heavily-scripted invisible calligraphy.

_He could take his time, for there was no rush._

_Tonight, the world was theirs and theirs alone._

_12:10 am, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

She began to shake, knowing her peak was near. “ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed, both of her hands grasping at Harry’s scalp, tugging at him in pure, unadulterated want. And soon, her hips bucked of their own accord as her scream echoed along the four walls of her very chamber.

_The night wasn’t over, this she knew for certain._

Macy and Harry’s eyes met and after a moment’s hesitation on his part, Macy beckoned him atop her bed. Soon enough, his back was flush against the headboard as she removed his boxers, now a pitched tent, returning the favor as her lips enveloped _him_ entirely.

His breathing grew labored as he reached forth and stroked her silken curls, wondering how in the name of everything magical he found a woman as magnificent, beautiful, and…talented as she, who by miracles of miracles, loved him as he did her.

_12:18 am, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_My redemption,_ he thought to himself, as his intake of air became increasingly ragged, his hands clenching the edges of the folded bedsheets. “I-I’m—” he started to speak while disentangling himself from her, but she held on even more firmly than before, for which he was secretly in thrall.

A pulsating surge of inner energy emanated forth as he arched his neck and exploded into his lover’s mouth.

_My one and only._


	13. Touching Me Touching You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hacy morning scene S2E19 in detail

13 Touching Me Touching You

_7 am, Next Morning, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_Sly_ , he was. _Sneaky_ even.

It all began with Harry’s foot, which lazily snaked its way upward from where it had touched her own—past her tapered ankle, the subtle swerve of her calf muscle, rising higher to her well-toned thigh, as he shifted his muscular torso, his _pied_ continuing to round her upper leg’s circumference, his largest toe landing precariously close to her folds—

Macy gasped as her eyes flew open. “ _Jesus_ , Harry—” as she felt the distinct sensation of being…penetrated by…a smooth and rather unusual body part of his.

Harry’s eyes a glittering obsidian, his head cocked just so, he issued a silent and sultry “come-hither,” all the while perfectly shirtless and utterly delectable.

She swallowed hard. “What the—"

 _“_ _How about round three_ _?”_

She bit her lip and grinned widely, exposing her pearly-white teeth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

_7:15 am, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

And that was how Macy found herself reenacting her secret, (well, now not-so-secret) Nicholas Sparks “The Notebook” fantasy, sitting atop an equally-nude, cross-legged Harry, her legs wound tightly around his back. Facing him, their beaded perspiration the scent of summer rain, a pine-and cinnamon-scented mélange, she watched in rapt fascination as Harry buried his face in her pristine, rotund orbs in the next seconds, turning into minutes that trickled by in the sands of an invisible hourglass, suckling her sensitive nubs into sensual oblivion as she cried out in ecstasy, causing him to stiffen like none other.

 _Oh, what sweet madness—_ he regarded her visage above as she lifted her form, secretly admiring the view of his beloved, her bosom positively heaving, positioning herself, down there, to take him in—each and every inch of his splendor.

 _Now?_ A simple look, with the lift of his chestnut brow, directed to his one-and-only, his partner-in-crime.

She nodded rapidly. “I need you inside me—” she all but whimpered.

“ _Likewise_.”

She swiftly impaled herself atop him in the next second, Harry’s subconscious suddenly recalling long-forgotten tomes buried in the recesses of his simulation crystal’s underground abode, their pages vibrating with a low, emergent pulse that grew in volume and intensity, punctuated with each and every scream he heard in the foreground echoing about, coupled with his own heady groans, until the tomes, the ancient, brow-beaten, previously-neglected pieces of feathery forest, they were alive once more, jumping—

 _Leaping_ _off the bookshelves in hordes,_

_Pummeling—_

_Thrashing—_

_Pounding—_

_With all his might—and hers—_

As he resurfaced to breathe vitality in his soul once more, his voice shaking as he held her in the most intimate way imaginable, him within her, interconnected, combined, he found himself unable to fully comprehend how he had such a fortunate, fortuitous shift of luck and happenstance in his favor.

 _Why was I afraid?_ Macy regarded Harry’s eyes once more, dilated and smoldering with pure, unadulterated want of his oldest charge, as they succumbed to their deepest, innermost desires, their lustful, ardent embraces all the more fervent as they acquainted themselves—and reacquainted themselves—with the form and figure of the other’s physicality and intimate emotions.

To be ignited with love—requited, passionate love—was a gift from the universe. It was truly a marvel, a miracle even, now that Macy thought about it, that this Whitelighter—this vintage-yet-cosmopolitan embodiment of British politesse masculinity—had taught her all she knew of her Charmed life and by his own doing, helped her believe in love, sex, and magic in a way she never had before.

_To be found—_

_And loved—_

_Exactly as we were—_

_Are—_

_And will be._

In the midst of showering the nape of her contoured, elegant swan-like neck with kisses, he whispered in her ear.

_Soon._

She responded moments later with a swift final thrust, biting his shoulder as he roared, gripping her hips, his essence coursing through in scorching spurts, intermingling with her own.

_7:45 am, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

The sublime curves of her sienna-hued orbs aligned with the stubble of his broad alabaster chest as they lay together in the warmth of their afterglow, bedsheets strewn about in a most un-Macy-like manner.

If she had slept solo per usual, she would have woken up forty-five minutes ago, smoothed the crisp linen bedsheets, neatly folding their edges forward above the seam of the sham, so that it appeared uninhabited from the night before. Then, she would most certainly have tiptoed out her door, closing it quietly as she made her way downstairs, skipping the always-creaking second-to-last stair step as to not wake Mel or Maggie. After which, she would have shuffled toward the kitchen, where she imagined fixing herself coffee in that ceramic mustard-yellow cup that gave off strong hygge vibes.

_Green Mountain Dark Roast or Tropical Macadamia Almond?_

She would have held the two bags in her hands, debating the caffeine content in each. Which was more dangerously addictive? Which tasted better? Which had subtler notes? Which was smoother on the tongue? Bitter? Acrid? Salty? Which one, if she closed her eyes, would take her to a transcendental enervating paradise of her very own?

She knew she’d contemplate away for the better part of several minutes, all the while staring out the window to Vera Manor Garden, before her mind invariably wandered to Harry’s nether regions, muscular chest, and how improved and elegant his wardrobe had become as of late. There was something about the color burgundy that brought out his complexion. The dark teal was quite nice too.

_Hell, he could wear a cloth sack for all she cared, and she’d still jump his bones._

Just then, she felt his weight shift until she found him atop her, not for the first time that day.

_Round four?_

She drew in a gasp and nodded slowly, then with renewed vigor.

_Oh yes._

_Definitely, absolutely, yes._

_9:30 am, Macy’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“So what else was in that Nicholas Sparks fantasy of yours?” Harry fondled Macy’s sprightly curls as they spooned, momentarily satiated from their most recent encounter.

“Well…ummmmm…” Macy’s voice trailed off as she giggled.

 _Oh, how he loved the sound of her voice_ _._ Especially her laughter, which had been ever-so-scarce as of late. He tenderly tucked a tendril behind her ear, awaiting her response.

“So, there’s this one part, he’s wearing his shirt I think, and he stands and picks her up—she’s straddling him—” she began as he did the same, halfway buttoning his silk shirt while she donned her silk magenta negligee, a recent vintage market find that had been lurking in her closet as of late. In the next minute, he took her in his arms before nearly tipping over, due to the past 24 hours’ overuse of his upper muscles, the majority of which was to bring his beloved unbridled amounts of cataclysmic pleasure.

On instinct, Macy used her telekinesis to bring a stool toward the large bureau’s mirror. “Put—me—here—” she hissed, as he followed her direction, gently depositing her on the upright surface.

 _“_ _Good girl,”_ he growled. “Then what happens?” Harry murmured in her ear, as she gave an involuntary shiver.

 _“_ _You know what happens—”_

His eyes became veritable pools of darkness, as he hungrily kissed her once more, their arms flailing toward the other, insatiable again as her legs wound around his own akin to the inveigling roots of intertwining ivy around a sturdy, solid oak tree. All of a sudden, he felt a swish as a dark piece of soft fabric danced past his shoulder.

“Whoops—” Macy apologized, surmising that her telekinetic powers were acting of their own accord. Her guess was correct, she realized mere minutes later, between Harry’s frenzied thrusts and her own attempts at unbuttoning his shirt, hearing various objects whoosh in the air and thud toward the ground opposite them, her exhaustion catching up with her not to mention her lustful encounters as she was unable to control her abilities to the nth degree. She emitted a sharp yelp, her hair having been caught on the mirror—

“Macy?” The voice came from outside the bedroom a certain distance away.

 _Ignore-ignore-ignore,_ she willed herself, as she continued twisting and dancing her tongue along his, a sultry game of tonsil hockey.

“Macy!” _There it was again._

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ She rolled her eyes. _Not now, please not now—_

_The footsteps grew closer—_

_And closer—_

“MACY, ARE YOU OK?” The pair heard several loud, pounding knocks at her door.

Their eyes instantly swiveled to her bedroom door which, Macy realized in her haste to…accelerate…activities the other night, had remained unlocked.

_Her sisters._

She pulled him closer, hoping beyond hope her sisters would somehow get the telepathic hint that she was perfectly unharmed—“I’m fine?” she squeaked, sounding thoroughly unconvincing to the two poised outside her door.

 _“_ _I should go_ _,”_ he whispered as he began pulling away.

“Nonononono—” Macy tried to reassure him, halt him in his tracks perhaps, knowing in the back of her mind it was no use.

 _“_ _Let. Me. Go.”_ He gave one final pulse-stopping kiss upon Macy’s plump lips as she pouted, albeit flirtatiously. Her back arched in remembrance of the day’s earlier ecstasy as he orbed away—

_And her sisters barged in._

Expecting a monster—a villain of some sort—Maggie and Mel scoured the room, worry and fear giving way to confusion as they stared at Macy, then down at a suspiciously-clean pair of neatly-polished men’s leather loafers, and up at the bed, which was in complete and utter disarray.

_How very un-Macy-like._

_A bed-dwelling monster, or?_

The sisters regarded each other for a moment, then had a sudden realization.

_Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh._

_Oh wow…_

“H-hey,” Macy stammered in her seat, trying to sound casual, her legs firmly crossed due to her underwear having gone missing under the headboard hours before. “W-what’s up?”


	14. Once Upon a Time in the Azores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This concludes "Of Attics & Argonauts" and starts "Of Lorenz Theory & Love." The story continues in "On Lorenz Theory & Love" (Hacy story 1), "Sundays with Scheherazade," "Of Ginger & Spice" (Hacy story 2), then "Matilda, Child of Fire" (Hacy story 3)/crossover. Happy reading!

14 Once Upon a Time in the Azores

_8-10 pm, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Hours after receiving much-needed relationship advice from none other than Jordan Chase, Harry found himself in Vera Manor’s wine cellar, trying to pick out a vintage number that would “woo the hell outta” Macy. In his attempt to protect his oldest charge, he had accosted Maggie earlier to wish his feelings for his beloved away—an impetuous, foolish endeavor, he understood now.

He had no idea where to start, but he did remember her at dinner nearly a fortnight ago, remarking that there was a chocolate wine that sounded particularly intriguing, comprised of a French cabernet sauvignon, Holland cream, cacao, and maybe the addition of bitters and cinnamon (depending how adventurous one was). It had been six decades since his first marriage (philandering husband), maybe a year or so since Charity (a fling?), a month since the whole Abigael debacle ( _highly_ regrettable), and he still had _no_ earthly idea of how to be a gentleman worthy of a second date.

_Not a half-assed fling, a casual date, or casual—whatever they called it these days._

_A date._

_A real one._

Having found the requisite cabernet and the cream, cacao, bitters, and cinnamon, Harry retreated to the kitchen for a bit of brew-making. He could hear Mel and Maggie laughing on the sofa, munching on popcorn and M&Ms, watching the aughts-era Charmed of yore, which they evidently found immensely therapeutic after the whole “Chucky the Chupacabra” incident earlier this morning.

Harry wasn’t surprised that Macy wasn’t watching the series alongside Mel and Maggie; she often quietly retreated into her bedroom for journaling, to the garden to dance to Arlissa, or to garden (he had seen her tinkering about the clay pots behind the shed). He could’ve sworn he saw her marking the outside corner of the shed with Arlissa’s lyrics “99 good things just 1 bad” in silvery ink, or perhaps that was his imagination—he could never be quite sure with the Vera/Vaughn ladies just what they were up to.

_10 pm, Macy’s Bedroom, Seattle, Washington_

Harry knocked on Macy’s bedroom with the canistered chocolate wine and glass flutes, for a peace offering of sorts. He thought this might be a potential step in a promising direction—maybe. However, after a couple minutes of knocking, then a hesitant opening of the door, Macy was nowhere to be found. And he knew that she had last retired there, and she had not gained the gift of wingless flight anytime recently. _Where then, had she gone?!_ Harry reflected it was entirely possible she hopped over to the Command Center and could have gone to an international locale, but realized he hadn’t had a single discussion yet of the places she loved and longed to visit, and at this moment, sorely wished he had, if only to find her, and let her love him, in whatever way they each knew how.

Harry rifled through Macy’s desk area, her crystals, and a world map. His scrying skill led him to believe she was on 37.7412° N, 25.6756° W, and her journal, dated to a few hours ago, had one word.

“Azores.”

_10:02 pm, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Harry clattered down the stairs, canistered chocolate wine and all in a picnic basket he’d found in the attic, and tapped Maggie on the shoulder. “Maggie. Kitchen. NOW.”

Maggie, looking confused, followed him in, wearing cherry-red fruit-printed pajamas, shielding her eyes from the brightness of the overhead lighting, a sharp contrast to the movie theater-style setting she had with Mel in the other darkened room. “Harry, what is it?”

Harry, placing the closed picnic basket on the table, paced back and forth, trying to decide 1. Whether to ask Maggie for help again, 2. How much Maggie needed to know, and 3. Whether Maggie could be trusted to be discreet. He uttered a long sigh, and figured this was his best possible shot at finding Macy in a very short period of time. “Maggie, I need you to touch this journal entry that states “Azores,” while looking at the coordinates I have written alongside it. I am looking for someone and it’s very time sensitive.”

Maggie nodded, slightly apprehensive. She gingerly reached over to touch the journal entry, and opened her mind to the location, wherever this “Azores” place was in the world. (To be honest, she’d never heard of the place before, and thought at first it was the name of a _Transformers_ movie prequel.) The familiar jolt and rush of energy surrounded her, as she stated aloud to Harry: “ _Madalena. Manuel de Arriaga. Epicenter Pico, No. 23,”_ and subsequently opened her eyes. 

Harry breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Mags. I’ll be back later.” He clutched the picnic basket from the kitchen table, as if to leave immediately.

“Oh—and Harry—” Maggie interrupted his train of thought—“pack a pair of swim trunks.” She’d seen a hot tub in her vision of the picturesque island locale; it suddenly dawned on her that Harry seemed too much in a rush to depart and could have sworn she saw fancy silverware and matching crystal flutes in the picnic basket. Her apprehension changed into a slightly cheeky grin.

“Roger that.” Harry took the picnic basket, went back upstairs to Macy’s bedroom, grabbed a pair that had been flung under her dresser, and orbed out to the Azores, Madalena, Epicenter Pico, No. 23, hoping beyond hope that he was not too late.

_10:15 pm Seattle, Washington/5:15 am, Madalena Village, Azores Islands (“Azores”)_

Harry landed neatly in front of Epicenter Pico, No. 23. He made as if to knock, but changed his mind, instead twisting the doorknob, using a bit of magic he’d learned in his whitelighter training. He heard a bit of Corinne Bailey Rae music filtering in from beneath the doorframe, and knew he’d arrived at the right location.

From the online floor plan, he understood that this was an austere-yet-somewhat classy piece of architecture, with a king-sized bed, a decent-sized balcony, and a 4-foot-deep hot tub in the middle of said balcony. This place was unusually situated further away from the island water, but within view—likely to avoid attracting any unwanted attention, nature or otherwise. Harry walked into the kitchen, placing his wares inside what appeared to be a largely empty fridge, save for a couple of cans of sparkling water, some guava juice, tropical fruit (pre-sliced coconut, papaya, and pineapple), and a veggie platter. He saw that the screened door leading to the hot tub was partially open; he checked his visage in a nearby bathroom mirror, and shed his clothes save for his swim trunks.

_5:20 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Harry could see Macy’s effortlessly curly hair from where he was standing, mere feet away—her curvy, sensuous figure, deep within the steam-sodden bubbles, her toes curling and unfurling every other second. She appeared engrossed in a bit of smutty iPhone Reddit literature (her phone, the only source of light, was propped up next to the hot tub by a 1000-page epigenetics book).

 _The smut, no doubt, was meant to take the edge off an extremely stressful week_ , he thought to himself, as he drew closer and silently entered the water, silently thanking the Elders for his soundless, piranha-like, whitelighting abilities.

Macy’s eyes were slightly closed by this time, as if she meant to drift off to a hazy sleep, dreaming hornily of Harry’s hard member rubbing itself on her barenaked back, in slow circles around the base of her spine, and she sucked her breath in sharply, feeling herself moisten. She opened her eyes, finding Harry doing just that, encircling her from behind, though wearing swim trunks.

“Is it really you?” Macy asked, without turning around.

“Yes—” Harry said. “Maggie directed me here.” Macy nodded, knowing exactly how that could’ve come about. She stole a quick glance at his trunks, where she detected the barest hint of an erection. “You’re different,” she breathed.

“Do you like it?” Harry uttered in her ear.

“Fuck yes,” she whispered, grinding her hips into him, causing him to groan with pleasure.

_7 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bedroom_

_His postprandial stupor, his torpid slumber transported him to a verdant garden once more, vaguely resembling his favorite scene from the movie “Notting Hill;” he was seated on a park bench, his lap occupied with Macy’s luscious curls as her head lay there peacefully, his hand intertwined with her own over her burgeoning bump._

_“Read me Sonnet 17 again,” she murmured as a blue butterfly alit nearby._

_“I love you without knowing how or when or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride. I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” Harry closed his sonnet book and set it on the grass beneath the park bench, turning to sweep Macy’s curls aside to kiss her forehead._

_“We should read that with our vows next week,” she whispered, smiling up at him as he nodded, unable to believe his good fortune at finding himself with her once more. Even if this was but a figment of his imagination, he couldn’t help but hope._

_Staring at the neighborhood ahead, he noticed a stop sign overrun by a cluster of wild magenta hibiscus blossoms, a turquoise cottage surrounded by palm fronds and what appeared to be grapefruit, guava, and mango trees, and various other tropical plants swaying in the warm cinnamon-spiced, cardamom breeze._

_A random thought struck him._

_“Macy,” he began. “Have you thought of a name for…” He paused. Please let that child be mine, he silently prayed. But even if the little one weren’t, he would love the child because it was half of her—half of everything he loved and cherished most in this magical, mystical world._

_“Our baby girl?”_

_He found his ability to breathe once more and smiled. “Yes, love. Our baby girl.” She shook her head as he continued to brush his fingers through her locks._

_After some moments of contemplation, he recalled her fondness for a certain African American author. “What about the name Maya, after Maya Angelou?” She tilted her head ever-so-slightly like a lexicon sommelier, as if to test the name upon her lips, the future soul within embodying their hopes and dreams for a brighter, happier future._

_“I think Maya’s a beautiful name…”_

He suddenly awoke beside her curvaceous form in Epicenter Pico No. 23 as the sultry sun began to shimmer and rise in the distance; as he took her hand, she snuggled up to him and squealed in her sleep as he kissed her once, then twice more.

And in that moment, he knew they would live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sonnet 17 is by Pablo Neruda


End file.
